Muddled Madmen
by dovahkiing
Summary: Blood bound traitors lose themselves and eachother after years of isolation and denial. Madness claims us all. Cicero/female Listener fic. Heavy gore.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: BIG. BIG. BIG. DISCLAIMER. **  
**The Cicero I have employed in order to tell this story is in _no way_ true to canon. Canon Cicero is mean, sly and downright gross tbh. In fact he has very few redeeming features at all (if any) but I love him all the same. However- my skill lies in writing tragedy and I know most people enjoy seeing him as 'the victim' (~when he's totally not~) and so I've combined those points to make this fic. I enjoy this perspective of Cicero so much- but _it's not him as he truly is_.  
I hope you enjoy my fractured version of Cicero regardless! Thank you for reading!**

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* * *

I watch him quietly, a small smile playing on my lips against the cloth of my facemask. I suppose it'd be more polite to remove my hood now that I'm reclining by the fire inside Dawnstar's homely Inn but I'd rather avoid having my unnaturally large canines exposed should I fall drunk. I laugh quietly to myself; unnaturally large indeed!

There he goes, scribbling, pausing, scribbling again, a swig from his tankard and a cautionary glance towards the door. Is he waiting for someone? Is he hiding? The nervous glances he continually throws towards the heavy wooden door suggest the latter. I smile wider and cross my legs, weighing my options. I should approach him. Perhaps a charming lass such as myself would help lighten his mood. I doubt that very much in all honesty but I see no harm in trying.  
Shakily, admittedly tipsy, I stand and walk around the roaring fire pit, the rowdy sounds of the Inn occupants long ago faded from my realm of narrowed attention. For just over an hour this silent gentleman has been the target of my every sense. Perhaps it's just me but against the raucous folks surrounding us he seems to stand out a great amount.

"Is this seat taken?" The man jumps and I note how the pointed, dangling tips of his cap sway with his dramatic motion. The almost fearful expression on his face is gone immediately when he sees me despite my rather intimidating attire.  
"Oh, no, no- not at all!" I wasn't expecting a voice that shrill to belong to someone with such sharp features. Not that he could see, I grin and take a seat on the bench next to him, my eyes watching his small notebook keenly. I catch a few words off the opened page, my eyes having trouble focusing and he briskly shuts it before I can make any sense of it. He eyes me with obvious interest and I extend a gloved hand towards him.  
"The name's Sachi! Pleasure to meet you!" His eyes widen and his mouth opens into the widest smile I've ever seen. I can hardly believe he appeared completely mortified only seconds before now.  
"Oh, Sachi! A lovely name to suit a lovely voice! How can Cicero help the friendly stranger?" He graciously takes my extended hand with both of his and shakes with all the vigor you could expect from someone wearing a motley. I laugh at his compliment and decide to remove my hood. My face mask remains but at least now he'll be able to make eye contact with me. Definitely both a pro and a con of Nightingale armor.  
"Cicero." I repeat his name and each syllable rolls off my tongue easily, as if I've spoken it a thousand times before. "You can help me by finishing this mead." I thrust my tankard at him and he takes it, bemused. When he doesn't drink it but instead puts it down on the table I pout and fold my arms.  
"You know, it's rude to not accept such a generous offer, that cost me 5 whole septims." I laugh then; 5 septims is nothing to someone like me. I have well over 40 thousand just sitting at home in the Thieve's Guild Cistern. I'm still laughing when I look up to see Cicero laughing as well, not even slightly put out by my peculiar behavior. Interesting!  
I look to his waist and find a thin belt adorned with buckles and apothecary satchels and- oh my! A dagger! A dagger indeed! Finely sharpened, expertly crafted and no doubt the taker of many a life-

I stop myself, my mind tends to wander. I continue snickering and drive my mind somewhere new, somewhere safer.  
"What had you so worried a moment ago?" I throw a leg back over the bench and place my hands on either knee, leaning forward as if expecting a grand tale.  
"Ah! An attentive stranger, indeed! Cicero is travelling you see, to Falkreath! I am taking my mother to her new home-"  
"Where is she now?" I cut him off, suddenly eager to meet the woman that could be the parent to someone so profoundly interesting to me.  
"Oh, Cicero's mother is quite dead, oh ho!" He laughs boisterously and I note how out of place it seems.  
"Okay. So. You're transporting her? Why?" I realize my questions are rude and perhaps this topic is of a sensitive nature but the peculiar man is more than happy to oblige my curiosity.  
"When Mother was alive she was quite the important person you see! Oh yes! But her tomb was- desecrated- so now I'm taking her to her new home!" He giggles inanely and I nod in understanding, my eyes still wandering without permission to the gleaming dagger halted by his hip. My weapon of course is equally impressive, if not more-so. I switch between several blades and maces depending on how useful I find their enchantments based on each new situation but today's pretty little number is none other than the simple Nightingale Blade. Simple and light weighted, it's useful little enchantment is helpful on any quest.  
I feel him watching me and I fight to look back up at him- it's only polite. My odd behavior and questioning has had a rather odd effect on Cicero- and of course by odd effect I mean none at all. His pulse is regular, his eyes are focused and he seems genuinely... captivated by my company.  
"That still doesn't answer why you looked worried," I say, grinning slyly as I remember my original reason for even introducing myself. He doesn't speak for a moment and I can see he's thinking hard about how to answer. He wrings his hands absentmindedly, the fine gold bands that encircle the cuffs of his well-worn gloves glint against the dancing firelight. I have a thousand questions but all seem to fall back to his dagger. I can understand a sword, a bow, a mace but-. A traveler with only a dagger? And one made of fine ebony no less! If my assumptions are correct then this man is no mere jester, oh, no. Certainly not.

Cicero mimics me and puts one leg back over the bench, now facing me properly.  
"Cicero is worried about Mother..." His voice fades and the ghost of an expression graces his pointed features for a single instant.  
"Where is she?"  
"She's outside... Excuse Cicero, sweet Sachi but I must be on my way!" He stands and swipes the leather bound notebook from the table before exiting the Inn.  
Ah hah... not so fast, dear jester! You have attracted the attention of a rather playful cat. A hungry cat, no less!  
I take the tankard and down what's left in a single mouthful. Bitter, foul and just what I needed.  
Food is rather tasteless for me, in fact it's quite revolting. There are but two things I can enjoy in my new and limitless form- mead and of course the all time number one delicacy!

The cold night air assaults me and I breathe in a sharp and sobering breath. Upon the ground I can see the deep prints of curled-tipped boots leading to my left. I follow them, my mind becoming clearer with each second that passes in this harsh weather.  
I can see a cart leave the yard and head out of town and I know it must be him. I pull my hood over my head and dart off after him, the wind at my back.

 **~O~**

Cicero doesn't push the horse too hard, for which I am thankful as I slink effortlessly through the trees a mere 50 meters off the road. Out of sight but not for long. Hours have passed, the weather is clear now and I can see the sun has begun to rise to my right. The eerie blackness dissipates and gives way to a suddenly violent shade of orange and the birds begin to call out above us in the snow covered canopy.  
The jester seems unaware of my presence as he hums loudly a tune that seems well rehearsed and comfortable. My feet glide across the fresh snow and I decide it's now or never. As I go to move from my cover I hear him call out.  
"Cicero can hear you, sneaky stalker! Come out, come out!"  
I smile knowingly and leave the shadows before walking towards the road, eventually finding myself in front of Cicero who pulls up his horse.  
I stand quiet for a moment and I almost hope he recognizes my armor. There is no trace of mistrust as he watches me with a bright smile before he speaks in a sing song voice that only encourages my building adrenaline.  
"Has lovely, lonely Sachi followed Cicero all this way?" He trills and I pull back my hood. My white hair falls around my shoulders and I take a few steps towards the carriage.  
"Lovely, lonely Sachi has come to play with sly Cicero," I return his infectious rhythm when I speak and this seems to delight him. He ties the reigns to the headboard of the cart and jumps down, his hands clasped as if begging for me to continue speaking.  
"Oh and what game shall we be playing, what dance will we be dancing?" I step closer and I can feel the excitement rolling off of him from even here. Does he know what I plan to do? I see his hand twitch, now by his side- his dagger- and I am sure he knows exactly what I plan to do. He is ready to 'dance'.

I am now at arms length when I stop walking.  
"Cat and mouse, my dear jester!" I reach for my face mask and pull on the fabric. It falls to my neck and I smile broadly. Instead of the fear or surprise I expect, he only gasps in joy. My fangs are certainly something to behold and I can see their true beauty isn't wasted on poor Cicero. Poor indeed!  
"I must warn you sweet Sachi that Cicero has never lost this game!" He giggles childishly and for a moment I consider stepping down. Very few words have been exchanged but this fool has begun to dig his way beneath my skin. But I've wasted enough time on this commoner as it is and now I shall reap my prize.  
"Then this will be fun, for neither have I!" I draw my blade and jump backward, eager to distance myself from his dagger. He draws it so quickly and is advancing on my position before my feet even hit the ground again. My smile matches his and we dance. He leaps at me with unexpected eagerness and I narrowly dodge his jab. He spins on his toes and brings the knife dangerously close to my spine. There's a fevered, focused look in his eyes despite the fact he's laughing and I manage to avoid each blow with pin point precision. A stab at my left and I dodge to the right, I swipe and he ducks, he lunges and I kick.  
My foot collides with the bottom of his jaw but it doesn't seem to bother him. He's compensated the distance and he still manages to tackle me to the ground. I'm laughing while I struggle against him, the snow splaying my weathered armor as he pins down my right arm with his left. His free hand has brought his dagger against my throat and I still can't contain my excitement.

"Ah a veteran!" I shout despite our close proximity and we laugh in unison. My unpinned arm moves and sways and the familiar thrum of energy pulsates through my core as lightening hits him in the rib-cage. He is sent backward and lands near a tree as I get to my feet, the rough sting of chaffed skin claws at my neck. My blade rotates in my hands skillfully as I bare down on his position, and somehow he's recovered. He's standing again, hardly short of breath and I can see the humour is replaced by something akin to excitement. I expected his demeanor to be quite different by now but he seems to be enjoying this as much as I.  
"You know what? You're not half bad," I offer, lowering my blade. I notice his horse hasn't moved from his spot in the middle of the road and I decide the poor thing must be used to conflict.  
Cicero laughs and gives me a bow; rather daring, I note.  
"Humble Cicero lives to serve," he huffs in response and I hardly know if it's sarcasm or genuine.  
"You know, I was rather set on making you my breakfast but, wouldn't you know it," I shrug and sheathe my blade. "I'm not really hungry anymore." I step up to him and extend my hand again, wearing a sincere smile that bares my fangs.  
With a thoughtful expression he takes my hand before saying, "Oh but Sachi, Cicero still is!" Before I could even think to protest he has me pinned again, both my arms above my head. I make no effort to struggle and instead I just lay there, his breath warm against my shivering skin. His amber eyes look down at me and I smile expectantly, waiting for him to do something.  
"I'm at an unfair disadvantage," I fake a pout and try to look somewhere else. I can almost feel the blood rising to my cheeks under his intense glare. "My fangs tell you what I am hungry for, but I don't know what your hunger implies!" I wriggle my hips beneath him and I give him a ridiculous wink.  
How odd! Most men would melt in this moment but oh, not Cicero. He remains focused, his dagger pressed ever so slightly against the still raw skin on my neck.  
"Not anything that concerns you, nimble Sachi," he titters and leans back on his heels, inspecting his blade when he finally withdraws it.  
"Oh you're a tease, jester," I prop myself up on my elbows, wondering why he decided to let me go. Or why I let him go for that matter. Perhaps he was returning the favour?  
The melting snow is seeping into my armor and I can feel the profound cold against my skin.  
"I have no idea who you are, what you want or if you're even transporting your Mother to Falkreath but. I think I like you." I grin and decide it's time to stand up, the cold snow beginning to soak my under clothes.  
Cicero looks up from his blade but then his keen stare lingers on my throat.

"Why did you follow poor Cicero?" He asks, his eyes remaining stuck on my jugular. I can see there's a predatory glare in them, the excitement of battle seems to pierce him further than most. "Surely crafty Sachi could have her pick of anyone!" His eyes flash to meet mine and I take his comment as a heartfelt compliment. I decide it's my turn to take a bow. I dip down low and rise again with a grin back across my face.  
"I only pick on those I think can keep up with my dance!" I chuckle darkly as I reach up to tug on my hair. My fingers move slowly, deftly as I plait the wild strands into a manageable braid, awaiting his response. I can see my answer intrigued him.  
"Did Cicero displease you? After all, you stopped before we could finish!" He wipes his thumb along each side of the ebony dagger's blade and sheathes it again. I can see the burn mark left behind by my sorcery, a hole in his motley. I'd be inclined to feel guilty had it actually damaged him.  
"Displease me? Oh not at all! You surpassed my expectations, fool," I keep from using his name and I'm not sure why. Perhaps I feel as though an air of professionalism is needed right now. "That little strike of lightening hardly effected you at all. Most impressive," I purred and he smiled, my eyes refusing to break contact with the flame burning in his.  
"Once Cicero's blade is drawn, not just anyone gets to walk away, kind stranger." His voice is familiarly shrill but there's an undertone that suggests a blatant warning.  
"Oh not to worry, my feisty friend! I shan't be drawing my sword on you again!" I flick my wrist for no reason other than flair and decide to count my blessings. He could have bested me then and there. I raise my hands and cover my face with my mask and hood and turn to leave. A brisk pat on the horse's lean shoulder and I'm off down the path I had spent 2 hours walking in the opposite direction. I still have unfinished business in Dawnstar.

"It's been a pleasure," I sing over my shoulder as I saunter away from him. Oh, how I will need to visit Falkreath some time soon.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _Sachi sat at the wooden table, her hands in her lap as Tairah gathered the aged silverware and spread it out neatly on the table in front of only her. Her eyes wandered around her home, her legs swaying back and forth over the edge of her chair.  
"Tairah," she asked in a small voice, pulling the elderly man from his own thoughts. He turned towards her and placed a goat roast on the table, watching eagerly for her reaction. Her eyes grew wide and she smiled elatedly- it wasn't often that she could eat more than stale bread. Tairah laughed, her reaction being more than he'd hoped for.  
"Oh thank you Tairah! Where did you get this?" Sachi eyed the slightly meager meal in front of her, beyond grateful that her carer had gone to so much trouble.  
He smiles crookedly as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's probably best if you don't know, dear," he replied simply. Sachi knew better than to pry further, all that mattered was that she wouldn't be hungry when she went to sleep tonight._

 _It wasn't long before Sachi could no longer fit even the smallest bit more. Tairah cleared the table and requested Sachi go clean herself up for bed, she obliged and went upstairs. It was draughty in her room, cracks in the walls and floors allowing for cold winds to rip through the creaking old house. With a shiver she walks to the water basin on the dresser, the water rippling as a slight wind skims the surface, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.  
She sighs contentedly and dips a rag into the bowl, the cold water enveloping her small hands. She wrings out the water and folds the cloth neatly in her palms. The Bosmer child hears the cracking of twigs, a sound so close to being inaudible she doubts she even heard it. The wash cloth trails along her skin, the water running down her forearms and dripping to the floor in a slow but steady rhythm._

 ** _Drip..Drip..Drip..Drip.._**

 _And then a crash. Sachi turns to face the stair way, the sounds below her carrying feelings of familiarity.  
"Not again." She drops the cloth with a shaking hand and she can hear grunting and the methodical thud of metal against wood. Finally she gathers herself and slowly begins to make small steps towards the stairs leading down to the kitchen. When she is half way down the wooden planks she stops and turns, crouching as her keen eyes glare at the source of the commotion from between the rotting stairs. Her heart pounds so loudly she can barely hear her own frantic thoughts as they whirl in her mind. From her secret vantage point she can see Tairah and an unknown assailant. He is dressed from head to foot in a deep black armor, his hair short and messy as it sticks out from below his hood. His face is mostly covered by cloth._

 _"When will you people leave me alone?" Tairah growls as he pushes the other man so hard he falls backward over the table. He lands in a heap on the other side, a dagger still clasped firmly in his hand. His hood is now pulled back and the cloth mask has fallen around his neck and she can see his face now, but only just. An imperial, no older than 15. He grasps his dagger tightly around the hilt, his eyes dangerously focused as Tairah rounds the table, his hands now carrying a knife rather than an impromptu chopping board shield.  
A laugh escapes the man, his smile doesn't touch his eyes.  
"The dark brotherhood will not rest, Tairah. Our courteous client is after you and we will not stop," his words are laced with laughter, like a pot of honeyed poison.  
His grip on his knife is still fierce as Tairah bends in front of him, taking him by the throat. He smiles, revealing a lovely set of fangs. Sachi feels herself flooding with relief when she decides Tairah has gained the upper hand. Still, the assassin smiles, unnerved by his seemingly imminent death._

 _It had been a while since anyone from the Brotherhood had come after us, and she didn't understand why they would send this child who is obviously still an initiate. Does this mean they're giving up on us after all these years? Sachi smiles at the thought of living in peace. But it is short lived.  
Tairah's back is to her now and she can no longer see the assassins face, but a loud groan and the swaying of her carer tells her something is seriously wrong. He stumbles from his crouched position and the assassin stands, his hood and mask back in place._

 _Blood. So much blood. Tiarah is on his knees now, the knife still in his hands. The assassin glares from above him; his eyes cold. Calculating. With genuine mirth he snickers.  
"Prepare for judgement in the Void, old man."  
Tairah is bleeding, his stomach split viciously from one side to the other, his hand holding pressure to the gushing wound while the other, with whatever swiftness he has left, raises and sends the knife deep into the assassins rib cage. Tairah falls, defeated. Sachi descends the stairs, tears running down her face as she approaches her father figure. The assassin is on the floor now, his eyes filling with bitter tears of pain._

 _"Why couldn't you just leave us alone?!" Sachi choked back the need to throw up, her eyes blurring.  
The man pulls the knife from his lower rib cage and curses angrily, blood shimmering on his armor, soaking through the fine leather. He looks up at the child, her golden eyes accusing. He smirks, entertained. This is why he joined the brotherhood. This is what he's made for.  
"Why?" He leans forward and grabs her arm with a painful grip, twisting her in such a way that she is on her back, his eyes staring down at her as she squirms. "I'm just following orders kid. I can't help that I happen to love it." He released her after staring for a moment too long, his other hand covering his wounded torso, trying to hold all the blood that he can inside. Without another word he left the house, leaving the Bosmer child to weep in silence._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

Nightingale. Dragonborn. Daedric Champion to more Deadra gods than I'd like to count. How did I get here? I walk as if on a tightrope, my feet placed carefully one in front of the other as I make my way towards home. Slowly, methodically, my mind wandering all over the place as I admire the soft flakes of fresh snow that have begun to fall around me. The winds are gone, the trees still and slumberous. I smile and yawn, content but exhausted.

The path is worn and familiar and I can feel the slight nip of cold beginning to bite at my pointed ears even through my thick Nightingale hood. I like this place.  
I've slain a dragon god and I have served both the light and the dark sides of many Divines; I have friends in high places and yet the one thing I left my family for still eludes me.  
"Not to worry, not to worry..." I mumble to myself assuredly.

My hands lay still behind my back, my boots crunching the thinning snow as the wild trees give way to the vast fields just North of Whiterun.  
I was 'born' and raised in the darkest crypt in all of Cryodiil, so my new life in the light is something I've come to appreciate on an unexpected level. I smile beneath my facecloth as Dragonsreach looms in the distance, proud and stark against the grey clouds that hover so low today. The falling snow begins to wane and I all but mourn their loss. Such pretty, delicate things.  
I can hear the distant sounds of a grazing mammoth and the giants kindly pay me no mind as they huddle around their impressive fire. I observe the tall blades of Loreius's windmill and I think briefly on the man himself. Loreius is a peculiar fellow- blunt and often I've found him to be quite hasty in his poorly considered views on the civil war. What a mess that is. I chuckle to myself, still persistent in placing my feet as if walking a tightrope. I'm not sure why I do this, or actually, many of the queer things I find myself prone to doing when no one is watching. Perhaps it's simply a mindless game I play to pass the time.  
I'm certainly very experienced in wasting time.

I pass a heavy gathering of aged rocks on a slight bend and find, to my surprise, a cart on the road at the base of the hill that bares Loreius's farm house. The cart is lopsided and I can see a man flailing his arms angrily. His distant grunts begin to fall on my ears as I walk closer, now finally stopping my imaginary balancing act so I can focus on him better. It couldn't possibly be him. I bark a laugh in disbelief and break into a jog.  
"Gah! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! _Stuck_! My mother, my poor mother... Unmoving, at rest. But too _still_!" Cicero shouts in despair and I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. I can see his wagon wheel has busted and he seems quite content to ignore me. I know for a fact he can hear me. Surprising sense for some mere Imperial!  
"Well, this is a turn up isn't it?" I snigger behind my mask as I approach him, now walking. He turns to face me and I can see his eyes light up. "Is there a problem?" Rhetorical but he answers anyway.  
"Yes! Yes there is! Poor Cicero is stuck!" he finally says, his expression returning to one of defeat. "Sweet, kind Sachi- you should do Cicero a favour, oh yes! An apology for your wretched behavior yesterday, _hmm_?"  
"What's there to apologize for? You seemed to enjoy it," I pull back my hood and smirk when he can find no immediate rebuttal.  
"Ah! But you burnt a hole in my favourite shirt!" He folds his arms and steps up closer to me.  
"Oh what a pity," I giggle and decide I should probably try to rectify my mistake somehow. "Alright, alright what do you want from me?" Immediately I regret not phrasing my words differently as he gives me a look that suggests something quite lewd.  
"Shove off!" I say in weak protest, not entirely against his playful charm. I consider slapping him but the idea loses it's appeal rather quickly. His cheek bones are so defined I'm sure I could cut myself slapping that face.  
"Go to the farm, the Loreius farm, just over there off the road. Talk to Loreius, he has tools, he can help me, but he won't. He refuses!" He takes off his ridiculous cap and twists it in his hands with obvious annoyance.  
"Loreius is definitely wrong to dare cross someone like you," I laugh and look past him at the almost shattered wheel. A definite mess. He needs an entirely new wheel. "But truth be told, the man's a fool on any day," I sigh and notice Cicero look at me with an almost alarming inflection when I say the word 'fool'. Perhaps I should stay from using his apparent occupation as a term of depreciation.

If Loreius doesn't change his mind, which I am almost certain he won't, I'll just have to take a wheel from his windmill and repair Cicero's cart myself.  
"Alright, you've got yourself a deal. But this will make us even, alright?" I raise an eyebrow at him and he looks at me as if I've insulted him.  
"Oh no, silly Sachi crossed Cicero only once, this is true! But do not forget he let you go!" he laughs and presses a single leather-clad index finger against his lips. I consider his proposal, but I keep to myself how free I truly was. One could not wish to contain me without a gag. This charming gentleman, skilled as he was, would be no match for The Voice.  
I step up to him, the tip of my boots touching his curled ones and I push a finger to his nose.  
"I won't - and haven't- forgotten." He smiles at me, seemingly pleased.  
"Oh Cicero likes you, oh yes. We are going to be _fast_ friends!" His eyes glint and I step back, now looking to walk towards the farm house.

One way or another, I'll get that stubborn farmer to help me.


	2. Chapter 2

"What a waste of time." I tutted under my breath with a disapproving look on my face. The blood had spread across the floor, or rather, what was left of it. I studied the dribbling trails of the thick liquid along my blade, the gutted bodies of Loreius and his Altmer wife, Curwe, lay off to my side. I turn my attention to Curwe. Such beauty. Such a shame. If only she had been in Whiterun today. I grin knowingly and wipe the back of my gloved hand across my chin, the drying blood smears across the worn leather. My hunger is sated and I think briefly on how I'm sort of glad it's not Cicero's blood painting my hands and face.  
But what a waste of time indeed. I knew he wouldn't listen. My persistence- my patience was well beyond my norm, even if only for my little pet jester's sake.

Oh what a mess the guards will find tomorrow! I wipe my blade awkwardly on my thigh before sheathing it again, determined to ignore the gore covering me from head to toe as I step out into the afternoon sunlight. Well. Sunlight is quite the generous description for it. My hood is over my head now, the soft glow from overhead doesn't hit my skin and I can see Cicero down by the road kicking into the broken wheel. I laugh at him as I meander towards the windmill; surely a spare wheel and a few tools will be in there.  
Conveniently enough I find all I need and return to the road where Cicero watches me intently. Oh, the blood. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. I throw the tools and new wheel off to the side and look back at him.  
"Problem?" I ask, a wide grin behind my mask. I stand with my arms limp at my sides, my weight shifted onto one leg as I wait for his response. His eyes sweep me and I can't help but notice the obvious _hunger_ in his eyes. His stare almost has me wondering just who the vampire is here.  
"Cicero regrets any trouble the farmer caused you," He takes in a sharp breath and finally looks into the murky depths of my hood, searching for my eyes. "... But it would seem you caused him far more distress than he caused you!" He trills and does a ridiculous dance on the spot and I can't help but appreciate his reaction to something so macabre. I had a feeling it wouldn't bother him so much but that look he had in his eyes for a moment before was rather... peculiar. Even for him.  
"Oh but Sachi! Sachi we still need someone able to fix the wheel!" His jig ceases and is replaced by his trademark pout. I gesture vaguely to the tools and then fold my arms.  
"I'm not entirely useless you know," I pull back my hood and facemask as I set to work, a proud smile across my face. My hair is still braided from yesterday morning but strands have fallen out and are covering my face. I huff in annoyance and push back my disobedient fringe.

Oil, splinters, cuts and bruises and finally the wheel has been replaced and set. I wipe the sweat from my brow and stand, my legs beginning to cramp. The whole time Cicero had been standing behind me, even at times daring to literally put his hands on my shoulders and lean on me to get a better view. His humming filled my mind and I welcomed his repetitive tunes. Occasionally a word or two would slip and I found the singsong tales to be much less sweet than the rhythms originally suggested.  
"All done!" I announce, dramatically brushing imaginary dirt off my front.  
"Cicero thanks you kind stranger! And not just Cicero! Mother thanks you, too!" I watch as he runs a gloved hand along the grain of the crate, delicate and slow. I watch for a moment too long and speak the first thing I can think of.  
"How long have you been stuck here for?" I shrug and then snicker at him, my question obviously cutting him off as he went to continue thanking me. Or, I assume he meant to continue thanking me. He stands still for a moment, considering my question with his mouth agape as if frozen mid speech.  
"Too long." He finally answers me bluntly- how uncharacteristic. "What made kindly Sachi turn to violence against the stubborn farmer, _hmmm_? Did you feel so passionate for stranded Cicero you decided to take revenge?" He laughs, his hands on his stomach and despite his jest I decide to think on it seriously.  
It's certainly possible. Not that I'd tell him that.  
"I had to eat something," I retort offhandedly, waving a hand at him as if to dismiss his claim. "After yesterday's feast was cancelled I decided to take those two at once." I pointed over my shoulder at the farm house and smile to myself. I look to the cart and inspect the crate. 12 foot long and hanging over the back end, pinned down by more ropes than necessary. Awfully large for a single woman's coffin... Maybe Loreius had a point after-all, not that I cared in the slightest what was actually inside. Skooma? Contraband? None of my concern.  
"Can Sachi catch?" I tear my eyes from the crate, just in time to see a coin purse hurtling towards my face. My instinct is to duck and it lands unceremoniously with a collection of ' _clinks_ ' on the ground some 2 meters away. I turn back to Cicero who stares at it and then at me, clear disappointment etched into every line on his face. "Cicero thought your reflexes would be sharper. What kind of occupation is there for someone with slow reflexes?" Is he asking about my line of work?  
"Thievery is more my thing. Not often I find a need to catch flying objects there," I wink at him and I'm not sure why. It feels oddly out of place but he seems to enjoy it all the same. "Speaking of thievery I have some items to give to my clients..." I walk to the sack of gold and estimate there is around 500 septims inside. Not bad, the little fool must be quite wealthy if he can lob 500 septims around like that. Literally.

"Thievery? You could steal a kiss from Cicero and he wouldn't mind," he snickers and I look up from my well earned pay. Did I hear him correctly? Surely not.  
Why not?  
I step towards him quickly and without breaking my stride I grab the front of his motley with one fist and cast the coin pouch to the dirt yet again. He puts up his hands in mock defense, not that he needs to.  
"Cicero was just kidding with helpful Sachi, just kidding-" I pull him in and cut him off and he stares at me wide-eyed when our lips collide. The eye contact verges on unsettling until his lids flutter closed and his hands move to wrap around my waist. I can feel the dried and cracking blood flake under the pressure of his chin against mine.  
Time's up. I smile into our kiss and pull away, self-satisfied and ready to leave. He stands there frozen, my once deadly opponent now a confused kitten.  
Again I pick up my coin purse, cover my face and wave over my shoulder as I walk away, headed for Riften.  
"Treasure it," I call out and my words meld into laughter as I stalk up the slope towards the only still standing Whiterun Guard Tower.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _"You've done what?!" The voice echoes off the walls when the robed elder shouts in disgust. A lowly assassin, bleeding from his torso kneels at the elderly man's feet, gripping his wound with curling fingers. Short red hair sticks out from under his shrouded hood, his eyes the colour of amber.  
_ _"I let the child go, brother," the older man snarls and kicks him in the stomach, knocking him onto his side. He yelps in pain but makes no move to defend himself and instead lay spluttering on the stone floor of the Bravil Sanctuary.  
_ _"Cicero, you were told to leave no survivors! That child could ruin the reputation of the Brotherhood!" Cicero winces at the pain, his face pale from blood loss.  
_ _"I apologise! I swear to you, Latrell- to everyone- that I will rectify my mistake! Just please give me another chance!" Between coughs he manages to get himself back to his knees, his body shaking from exhaustion.  
_ _There's a cold blackness in Latrell's eyes, leader of the Bravil Sanctuary. He watches, obviously enjoying the sight of a lowly initiate grovelling hopelessly at his mercy. Cicero makes no eye contact and instead keeps his head bowed. Trained like a dog. Onlooking brethren watch in silence, disturbed but knowing better than to defend the boy.  
_ _Eventually, finally, when Cicero's shaking form became still, too weak to even quake in fear, Latrell spoke.  
_ _"You will have another chance. You will have as many chances as it takes until you end that Bosmeri child and bring me her head. Cicero, this is your new task," his words are final and confusing, Cicero's traumatized body failing to comprehend his new orders. All goes black and the boy is unconscious._

 ** _~O~_**

 _Cicero awakens in the woods, his wound gone, leaving only a faint scar over his ribs. Healing spells and a few clever potions truly are a gift.  
_ _The world comes flooding back and he is aware of every sound, every twitch in the grass, each individual trill of the 10000 bats flying overhead. It's dusk and the trees are shaded heavily against the fiery orange sky. He stands, dizzy and painfully aware now of his new task; end the Bosmeri child.  
_ _An ebony dagger rests on his hip and a sly grin passes over his features.  
_ _"Just another target," he whispers as his finger traces the hilt of his dagger. He heads North searching for the town where he last saw her, hoping to gain a clue. Surely she wasn't so stupid as to stay this long and mourn her dead carer. Savage vampire bastard. Cicero curses loudly, a palm now pressed to his new scar._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

I have a new lead and something this important can't be postponed for long...  
Cicero is long out of sight by now, the sun beginning to set. I passed Whiterun hours ago but somehow I can still feel the madman's lips on mine. I've resumed my childish balancing act, my movements slow but careful. With each step I can hear the gentle clinking of gold against my hip and I find myself smiling. What an interesting couple of day's I've had!  
I left Riften a week ago and spent far too long enjoying the seaside town of Dawnstar. I was expected to carry out a simple sweep job for Vex, a few shiney trinkets and the odd jeweled crown here and there. But I had missed the snow and the steady crash of angry grey waves after so many months in warm Riften. Cyrodiil was the exact opposite of Dawnstar. Perhaps that's where my love for it stems from.

Cyrodiil. My home. My curse. My cage. I wouldn't go so far as too fool myself into thinking things were quite so dreadful- after-all I had my family. A cut-throat clan of vampires, the only home I'd known until roughly 1 year ago. I'd come to Skyrim, a land ravaged by civil war and perpetual unrest, seeking my fortune. And boy, did I find it! Not the precise fortune I had sought after but a fortune no less.  
I can hear the distant calls of a bush fox, some nearby tree branches home to a family of exhausted birds. I suppose I ought to be exhausted as well but my mind plays around the thoughts of my past. My more recent past mostly.  
A peculiar man indeed, sweet Cicero had honestly captured my attention the first moment I saw him. A crowded Inn and a troubled face. I suppose I never meant to attack him until I caught glimpse of that dagger. If not for my Voice, even I would have been no match for his agility and apparent experience. A unique find indeed.  
My now estranged family had told stories of the merry-men of old, the way troupes of travelers would often be accompanied on the road by a jester or bard. I knew not of such things for myself. My field experience was-... lacking. Not that I could remember anything before becoming who I am now. Becoming undead could leave many things behind that were once dwelling in a living mind. An inconvenient truth, but a truth nonetheless.

 **~O~**

"Take it." I shove my small knapsack into Vex's stomach and let go, not caring if she has time to catch it or not.  
"Hey-!" Behind me I can hear her fumbling with it but my eyes are set on Delvin.  
"Mallory. Training room. Now." My voice is unusually curt as I slam a palm against the mans table. He splutters in surprise, mid drink from his cup and I continue towards the path leading to the Cistern. The Ragged Flagon is much too busy for the discussion of something so taboo. I pass my bed and carelessly throw my belt onto it, my blade and satchels along with it. I pull back my hood and nod towards Brynjolf who stands talking to Rune on a nearby bridge. I don't take the time to see if he noticed me or not, each stride longer than the last as I head pointedly towards the training room.  
I find two of my subordinate thieves joking around with the locks on the training chests and I order them out of the room. I stand in the corner tapping my foot impatiently, the musty air, the smell of rot and stagnated water invading my nostrils. Unpleasant scents to most but to me they scream of home.  
After far too much time has passed Delvin enters the room, mildly amused with my out of character behaviour.  
"Welcome home, boss. I trust you had a pleasant time in gloomy Dawnstar." Casual as always as he comes to stand 2 meters away from me, his hands on his hips.  
"I did, as a matter of fact," I grin and smugly raise an eyebrow.  
"Oh did you now?" He chuckles but I think that's enough pleasantries. I nod and take in a sharp breath.  
"When we're you going to tell me you're best friends with the Brotherhood?" Delvin's smile is wiped clean and he seems suddenly put out by my odd behavior, no longer amused by it. I'm usually carefree, although still intimidating.  
"Now, now, boss. We've had dealings with that lot many times over the years. Our lot's in good with 'em. Better than the alternative,"" He laughs airily, determined to seem casual. "Our- businesses- aren't that unalike, mind you."  
"As Guild Master, I would have liked to have been informed." I cross my arms but suppose he isn't all that guilty. If not for my many hidden agendas I doubt I'd care at all who we had dealings with as long as it made me some coin.

Dawnstar had left me with many questions. I'd heard very tall tales in the shadowed corners of shops and by the rotted docks.  
" _They say the fence in the Thieve's Guild sometimes does work for the Brotherhood_!" This line in particular had caught my attention, oh most certainly. After digging and scraping I found Dawnstar to be frosted in juicy tidbits of information. The newly revitalized reputation for the Guild had brought to life many new rumors and a profoundly justified sense of fear among the people. Good for my business, but not so good if looking to get any solid information.  
But the 'fence' having dealings with the Brotherhood? Oh that was far too interesting to let slip my attention as a mere rumor, and Delvin's personal confirmation only made me hopeful.

"Delvin..." I put a hand to my chin and rub it thoughtfully. How to put this... "How do they contact you? Or you them?"  
"Well, Astrid sends the odd underling my way if she needs something appraised or the like."  
"Astrid?"  
"Yeah, she leads the Brotherhood," he replies simply and I have but one more question.  
"When did they last contact you?"  
"A couple months back, before Mercer defected."  
Mercer. What a mess he made. I think briefly about Karliah. I hope she's doing well on her own. I'd offered for her to join us here in the Cistern but she said she couldn't leave Lady Nocturnal's shrine. She visits but never for long and it's usually for business reasons.  
"That'll be all, Delvin. If they contact you I want to be informed. Not after they've left, not a week later. I want to be told then and there. Are we clear?"  
"Alright, alright. But something tells me maybe you didn't have such a nice time in Dawnstar after-all," he sniggers and leaves and I can't help but laugh under my breath. It definitely must seem that way, but it certainly isn't true.  
I sit on the cold, damp stones, my mind wandering all over the place. After all these long months, after all the fighting and training and complicated relationships. Finally, something solid on the Brotherhood.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _Cicero stands silent on the edge of the trees, his dagger drawn and twisting idly in his hands. The town is just beyond a small clearing, a town where he'd heard the Bosmer child had run to. Weeks had gone by without a single sign of her, he'd traveled far and wide across all of Cryodiil and he'd finally cornered her. He emerges from the thicket and darts across the clearance, the cover of night granting him near invisibility. Inside a house he can see the Bosmer child sitting alone at a vacant table, her hand holding a dagger. Her expression is cold, tired.  
_ _"Easy pickings," he whispers, but foolishly so. The girl looks up, her heightened sense of hearing giving him away. She stands and walks to his window slowly, brandishing her knife. The girl has no intention of fighting tonight but she had been training across Cryodiil on how to defend herself. Over time she had become quite handy with her trusty dagger. She opens the window and finds the man crouching below it, looking up at her, his face hidden but his eyes are wide._

 _"Why didn't you run?" he hisses through the face cloth, his brow furrowing in confusion. He excelled in his area for sneaking and stabbing but he just won't be able to get this damn contract done if she's able to hear the inaudible.  
_ _"I don't want to fight you," the girl says quietly before stepping away from the window. She walks slowly, backwards away from the man who stands up and jumps silently through the window. He stands there and doesn't make any movements but instead watches as the girl extinguishes all the lanterns and throws a bucket of water into the fire place. The harsh sizzling of water on dying coals is the only sound heard as Sachi takes her seat at the table again, her keen eyes refocusing quickly in the new lighting. "I want to talk to you."  
_ _"Talk to me?" Cicero's jaw drops and he raises his knife to scratch idly at his head through the hood. "You do realize who I am? Why I must be here?"  
_ _"Yes of course. I've learnt a great deal about your people since... then," she can see him silhouetted against the window by the dull light the moons are casting outside.  
_ _"Then why? Why must you talk to me?" Cicero takes a cautious step closer, a vague plan forming in his head. Perhaps he can lull her into a sense of false security. Perhaps.  
_ _"I have questions. Firstly, I need to know why you specifically joined such a horrible organisation," she replies simply, her questions evidently rehearsed time and time again._

 _Cicero is quiet for a moment and takes another step forward towards the table. Why did he join the Brotherhood? That was easy.  
_ _"I enjoy killing," he replies, fiddling with his ebony dagger.  
_ _"So do I," the Bosmeri girl grins but it fades quickly. She is not proud of the rush she gets for turning violent. And against people who were aiding a 'helpless child' no less. But there was no denying the rush of blood in her head, the itching of her fingers before reaching for her dagger. There was no denying the pleasure.  
_ _With no one left to protect her, what else was a 10 year old girl to do in these uncertain times?_

 _Cicero grins and contemplates perhaps recruiting her. He quickly decides against it knowing Latrell would never allow for a contract to be broken, even if it meant fresh meat in the ranks.  
_ _"What's an innocent girl like you killing people for?" Cicero moves close enough to the table that he pulls one of the chairs towards him and he sits backwards on it. While she takes her time to respond he takes his time to scratch jagged patterns with his dagger into the chairs backboard.  
_ _"My innocence was lost long before you met me... Now, my second question. Why would the Brotherhood send you, an initiate, after Tairah, a known vampire clan leader?" her voice is even, mellow. Cicero squints in the darkness to read her expression for any kind of trickery.  
_ _"How do you know I'm an initiate?" he rubs his chin idly in confusion.  
_ _"Answer my question."  
_ _"Do not forget yourself, girl. I am in charge here. Answer my question," he stabs his knife into the back of the chair and lets it protrude awkwardly outward towards Sachi who does not flinch.  
_ _"I have a name, you know," she replies vacantly. "Its Sachi. Sachi Reed. And I know your rank simply through observation. Many a Brotherhood member had been after us for years, I've come to know most rank's uniforms by now. Besides that, your age gives you away. Assumption of course but still, you look no older than 15."  
_ _"I am indeed no older than 15," Cicero leans back, his fingers gripping the edge of the back of the seat. Mildly impressed by her obvious intelligence and generally tranquil demeanor. He decides to grant her an answer. "I was elected most suitable for killing Tairah. Through many trials and errors we had come to learn he was a fierce fighter and front on attacks were no way to go, so they sent me. I may be an initiate but I am the best there is," there is an element of pride in his tone, the sound of a smile in his words._

 _"Then I needn't worry about any of you," Sachi says simply, folding her arms across her chest as she leans back in her chair. Cicero tilts his head and scoffs in distaste.  
_ _"'Needn't worry'? My dear child you ought to be very worried indeed." There is a twinge of anger seeping into his calculated words now, and Sachi does not fail to notice.  
_ _"Well, I've thought about it and no. I needn't worry if the best the Brotherhood can throw at me is a sneaky assassin initiate who let a small child go and failed a simple contract in doing so," she smiles contentedly but tenses herself for retaliation, however she is met only by laughter.  
_ _"Hahahah! You think you stand a second chance against someone like me?" Cicero stands up and pulls his dagger from the chair. He puts his hands on the table and leans across it. "Everything I have is on the line until you're dead."  
_ _"I'm sad to say I'm going to have to disappoint you and your persistent superiors this evening. But before we get down to it," she stands as well and she can feel his eyes burning through her face as malicious intent radiates off him in waves. "I have one final question to ask you today, assassin."  
_ _Cicero leans back off the table and gets himself ready for whatever this small girl has planned, not that he expects it to be much.  
_ _When he says nothing she asks, "What am I to name my newest foe?"  
_ _A child alone cannot do much harm, but a dead one can do none at all. With a smile, one last word passes the assassin's lips. "Cicero."_

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

"Sachi?" I release my grip when I hear my name and the arrow flies from my bow. I am utterly useless with this ass of a weapon. I growl under my breath and turn to find Brynjolf has entered the room. "Sorry to interrupt, lass, but word's gotten 'round." I meet his stare with mild apprehension; rumors are awfully dangerous.  
"What's the word?" I reply, discarding my bow to the floor.  
With a smile Brynjolf speaks. "I heard you're looking for the Brotherhood."  
"And you have a lead, I take it?" He wouldn't come to bother me if he just wanted to engage in idle chit-chat.  
"Aye, I do." He gestures for me to step closer and I comply, eagerly awaiting his information. "Word has it a child has run away from Honorhall."  
"The orphanage?" My brow furrows in confusion.  
"Correct. The remaining kids are speaking highly of the runaway's plan to employ the Brotherhood to kill Grelod the Kind." I snort. 'Kind'. That woman's a beast.  
"Where'd he run off to?" I'm smiling now. This story is quite the interesting one!  
"Back to his family home in Windhelm, the kids say." Brynjolf straightens up then, clearly finished relaying all he's willing to share. As he turns to leave me in an excited silence, he speaks again. "Look for Aventus Aretino."

My search could very well hang on the vengeful will of a child, but it was no less a lead in my mind!

 **~O~**

It's been a while since I felt the brutal winds of Windhelm. Despite owning a house here I found the residents to be quite... Inhospitable towards Mer folk such as myself. Ulfric. What a pig of a Nord. Not that they aren't all just that. _Pigs_. Going so far as to assault, enslave and exile the more exotic races. I've had dealings with both Ulfric and the Argonians by the docks and I found them to be far more reasonable people. I can't imagine what these heathens have against any of them. Seems so counter productive to me.  
Candlehearth Hall is warm when I step inside the ancient building. I can hear the drunken slurs of Nords and the Bards singing ridiculous songs of praise for Ulfric and his rubbish Stormcloaks. I'm bitterly reminded of why I never visited this mess of a city. It's grime could only be rivaled by that of Markarth and it's stench by that of a Forsworn settlement.  
Ugh. Forsworn. Another mess entirely.  
My usually cheery disposition is dampened, if not crushed under such distasteful circumstances.

I slide into a seat at the bar and a man I vaguely remember to be called Rolff slinks away from me and down the hall. Our last interaction resulted in him being nearly killed and me being very angry that he wasn't. I laughed to myself at the memory which stirred another thought from the back of my mind. I was a little bit violent sometimes. Often too violent. It used to leave me wondering if someone like me was even fit to run the mild Thieve's Guild.  
"What'll you have?" A voice draws my attention and I can see the barmaid staring at me expectantly. I can't really read her expression but her features are taut.  
"Looking for work." My mouth moves against the fine fabric of my facemask and the barmaid reaches beneath the bar. She pulls out a stack of papers and reads down the list, as if trying to find something specific.  
"You didn't strike me as the mercenary type..." she says vacantly.  
"I'm not." I agree with a smug grin. I should probably find less intimidating attire to use while in public but I couldn't imagine finding anything to suit me better than my Nightingale armor. Dark and sleek, light and tight fitting. Perfect for agility and stealth.  
"Oh?" She puts down the paper and eyes me cautiously. "What kind of work did you have in mind then?" She leans against the bar.  
"Something _new_." I reply bluntly, my smile growing ever wider.  
"Well, I don't know how ' _new_ ' you're willing to accept but there's... a bit of an issue here at the moment." I expect her to mention the Butcher, but surprisingly she whispers a familiar name into my ear.  
"There's been shady rumors about the Aretino child. They say you can hear him chanting from inside his house! Word's been making my clients uneasy, you'd be doing me a favour if you could scope it out and end this nonsense." The idea of doing this hapless wench a favour was hardly what motivated me.  
"Shady rumors?" I know exactly what she means.  
"He's come home from Riften to attempt- the Black Sacrament." Her words momentarily get caught in her throat and I try not to laugh. The intense superstition everyone holds in regard to the Brotherhood is so unwarranted in my opinion. I've not heard anything solid about them for a year and I've been actively searching!  
"I'll see what I can do." I extend my hand and give hers a shake before departing Candlehearth Hall.

I stalk through the snow along the black brick paths in search of fevered whispers. I don't know where your house is, boy, but I am going to find you.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N To be frank i skipped all the nonsense with Aventus because it's boring and we've all played through it and/or read it a million times in game or online so leTS JUMP TO THE FUN PARTS!**

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

I wake with a pounding inside my skull. Did I drink? Did I get hit? The unfamiliar surroundings had me realising it was neither of those things. Ah! A kidnapping. I sit up, my brain feeling as though each movement was tearing a single piece of it away. The world seems to have shifted; I am confused but undoubtedly excited. Who could get the jump on me? A worthy challenger I am certain!

"Sleep well?" A sultry voice speaks and my eyes drag upwards towards a blurred figure atop a cupboard.  
"It was alright," I laugh and the vibration grates against my brain. I don't even remember going to sleep. "A drug, then?"  
"Keen of you to notice so early after waking." I can make out more details about the woman now, but keeping my eyes open is proving to be a grand struggle just yet.  
"Would you answer if I asked which one?" I rub my face and shake my head, I feeling as if my eye sockets are far too tight for my eyes. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed my host had so graciously put me on. With straining vision I can begin to make out my environment. Rotted walls made of wood, crumbling furniture abandoned decades ago. A dim light seemed to fill the room from no where in particular and eventually my eyes fall upon my apparent captor again.  
"Does it matter? You're warm, dry... and very much alive... That's more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?" There's a smile in her voice, hiding beneath a facemask similar to mine. I subconsciously raise a hand to my face and find my entire hood has been taken off me. And no weapon... Of course. I know I should have expected as much but my mind still feels painfully groggy.  
"Ah. You know about that?" She laughs. Of course she does.  
"Half of Skyrim knows. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Word tends to get around." I don't respond and we stare for a moment, weighing the other up. "Oh, but don't misunderstand me; I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot. Ah... But you see, there is a slight-... problem."  
I don't like the sound of that.  
"Problem?" I'm hardly nervous but I'd like to keep from fighting while unarmed. Magic can only do so much in closed quarters. I suppose I could simply burn this whole house down and leave her charred corpse in the wreckage but, of course, where would be the fun in that?

"Hmm, yes you see, the little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole... A kill you must repay." The woman leans forward and wraps one arm around her knee, the other leg left dangling over the edge of the wardrobe.  
So this is the Dark Brotherhood? I had to admit, I'm quite impressed. Clean, forward and elegant. As far as I can see, my expectations weren't misplaced.  
"You want me to kill someone for you?" I smile and stretch my arms above my head; my body feels rather cramped. How long was I out for? "Who?"  
"Well, now. Funny you should ask. If you turn around you'll notice my 'guests'. I've 'collected' them from-... Well. That's not really important. The here and now. That's what matters." She pauses briefly while I turn to find 3 people kneeling on the ground in a line, facing me with execution hoods over their heads. I bite my lip to keep from seeming too eager. "There's a contract out on one of them. They cannot be permitted to leave this room alive. But... Which one? Go, on. See if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe... and admire." She's certainly long winded but I couldn't possibly judge someone for wanting to have an air of dramatics. She throws a dagger at my feet and I stand, taking it into my gloved hand. Light but it has a clumsy balance. Perhaps I could grow to find it charming but a weapon such as this hardly deserves my use at all.

This is such a splendid surprise! I round the bed and approach the three kneeling individuals. I pace back and forth, weighing my options.  
I had left my humble crypt in Cyrodiil seeking the Brotherhood, this is true. My lovely, chatty friend Dalina was so kind as to give me a rather interesting lead about my foggy past.  
" _You were so obsessed with the Brotherhood you didn't even come home for bloody 10 years_!" Dalina never could say no to an offer of strong mead. The others in my clan of course were not so easily swayed. After a whole decade in their company they still swore black and blue that before I joined their numbers I had asked to never learn about my human past.  
How hideously boring of me.  
Yet here I was under the scrutiny of who I assumed was the one Delvin called 'Astrid'; Leader of the Dark Brotherhood and it was my first real chance to make a move. Inconveniently enough, Dalina neglected to tell me if my interactions with the Brotherhood were positive or negative ones but something told me attacking this shrouded woman now would be far too predictable. And dull.

I turn back to the women who has not moved from her perch atop the cupboard. "Kill any one of them? Any rules?" She shrugs but does not speak. I've read a great deal of the books written about their shadowy operations, enough to know that they were quick and clean. There is no way they would bring three people here only to have two of them walk away scott free. No. All three are guilty, one way or another.  
I can see there is a man, a woman and a Khajiit from left to right. The man is whimpering and I feel myself almost shudder in excitement. The adrenaline is building and I can feel my body twitching, all traces of that vile drug are suddenly evaporated. I lift the dagger high and plunge it deep into the pathetic Nord's shoulder. He screams out and I lean into him, relishing the sound as it reverberates through every nerve in my body. I pull roughly downward on the dagger and it rips through his chest. I can feel the blade grinding against the bone before I finally pull away. I withdraw my dagger and he falls, silent while I watch the blood gush out from the wound as he lay lifeless on the floor, his body limp and slightly contorted. My nose twitches, my cheeks begin to flush. I can hear the blood seeping into the floorboards, running through the cracks like tiny rivers, these inaudible sounds deafening to only me. The other two prisoners turn their bodies to face this direction, now completely silent. _Oh this is grand_! My throat is contracted and a lack of air pushes me into a dizzying high. Any breath feels as though it might cause me to explode.  
"Make peace with your gods," my voice is unusually shrill and a wild laugh finally escapes me, a twisted grin forming on my face. I drive my dagger far into the Khajiit's stomach and twist it until he shrieks before I release the hilt, my eyes now fixated on the squirming woman's throat.  
It feels so long since I last fed. So long since I felt the rush of Loreius's blood in my mouth. So long since my joking fool-

I am unconscious to the Brotherhood member as she watches me with her sharp eyes. I am dead to the world. I fall to my knees and take the feeble woman's head harshly in my heads, the smell of blood driving me into a frenzy. I can feel the faint struggling of my weak opponent, her heavy breathing in my ears as fear grips her. The world fades, comes into sharp focus and fades again. My hands are shaking, my fingers clawing through gloves, my lips barely inches away from her throat. Yes. _Yes._ Yes, _now._  
Jaws agape, I plunge my teeth into her skin, each thread of muscle sending ripples of flavour through to my center, through the blackened reaches of my long dead body. I pull back, my mouth clamped shut. The woman is fighting, trying her best to shriek in pain and struggle despite her restraints. Her suffering is not long lasting, the massive hole in her neck a miserable, broken flood gate. I go in again for a second take, just as exhilarating as the first. My teeth hit tendon, bone, sinew. I crush the obstructions, my ears ringing with the sound as her spine is pulverized to powder. I can faintly hear the Khajiit is alive, battling against blood loss to keep his wits. How sad. I laugh into the woman's neck, maniacal and wild. I'm not sure why I'm laughing but something just feels _so funny_!  
The woman is long gone now, her head completely separated from her body. I let her drained form fall alongside her head. A bloody mess is down my front and my hair is soaked crimson in most places. I stand, satisfied and take the hilt of the measly dagger and drive it further down into the Khajiit until he's begging for his death. I put a bloodied hand to his throat and strangle his last cry into nothing but a woeful mewling.

I'm panting now, adrenaline pulsing through every fiber of my being. I momentarily take in the ghastly scene I've created before I turn, drenched, to the woman again who stares in silence. I approach her, my hands dripping a trail of blood in my wake.  
"Have I appeased the Brotherhood?" I ask, intending it to be mostly rhetorical, but she replies with a smile wide enough to rival my own.  
" _You certainly have_."

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _An entire year. 12 months. 4 seasons. But here they were again, face to face on the docks of Bravil, an almost tangible tension in the air. The water laps at the scum accumulated on the poles supporting the jetty, the moons setting a perfect scene for this chance encounter. One blade is drawn as the two foes stand in silence, the other seemingly defenseless. A cold wind has picked up, urging the water to lap angrily at the dock.  
_ _"It's been a while," she says airily, her fingers twitching at her sides. Sachi waits for him to speak, to move, to breathe.  
_ _"I'm surprised you haven't died yet. What are you? Like 11?" he lowers his knife and smirks. His words are cold, laced with spite. Sachi smiles, quietly admitting she'd missed his curt speech.  
_ _"And what are you? Still an initiate I see." The sneer falls off his face and is replaced by something far less benevolent.  
_ _"Tch. What do you want, girl? You summon me here and for what? A stare off?" Cicero's voice is flat, his expression frozen in a mild grimace. This girl has given him nothing but strife, the likes of which someone so simple as this elf child could ever comprehend. Things at the Bravil Sanctuary have not been entirely pleasant since their last meeting.  
_ _"Of course not. I wouldn't want to waste your extremely valuable time," Sachi snickers, pulling back the hood on her cloak. "I summoned you here to make a request."  
_ _Cicero laughs. It is spiteful and empty but Sachi expected as much. "You want me to do you a_ favour _? You? Do you know how much of a pain in the ass you've been for me? Letting you go not once, but twice has landed me in the worst possible position, and it's all your fault," Cicero steps forward, flipping his knife nimbly with his fingers so the hilt is facing Sachi who remains still, watching intently._

 _Her fault? Was wanting to live, to be free of the Brotherhood so selfish? What could the Brotherhood even do to one of their own? Anything too harsh would surely be pressing into the bounds of one or two of their ridiculous Tenants.  
_ _"My fault?_ You're _the one who has failed._ Not me _. If I failed do you think I'd be standing here-_ alive _\- right now? Perhaps the Brotherhood really is as desperate as everyone else these days-"  
_ _"Shut it!" Cicero moves quickly forward, his voice so low it was more growl than speech. He stands so close to Sachi he can touch her now, his knife held steadily at her neck. Sachi can feel him shaking, his face barely inches from hers. "Give me one reason to listen to you."  
_ _"I can't." He reaches a hand to the back of her neck and squeezes hard causing her shoulders to hunch. Sachi keeps from making a sound of protest and instead looks him in the eyes defiantly. "However I can give you a reason to let me live."  
_ _"What? What could possibly change my mind? I have spent a long time itching for this! Every day, every moment of pain, every time I received punishment, every single flogging I-" he stops and reels back as if burnt, the hand grasping his dagger falls helplessly at his side. He has let too much slip, his pride wounded.  
_ _There is a silence that falls between them; deafening, screaming._

 _"The Brotherhood sounds horrible," Sachi says eventually, her voice barely audible.  
_ _Cicero stares at the ground and lifts a hand to the cloth masking his face. He pulls it down and sweeps back his hood, revealing a mess of short red hair. His features are refined- dark and obviously Imperial. Stenciled eyebrows and harsh cheek bones, eyes sunken and she doesn't fail to notice the angry lacerations across his jaw.  
_ _"Yeah well. They're all I have. And you ruined it."  
_ _"I came here to ask you if I could join. I've trained for months, you know. I'm getting quite good. But... I don't like how they react to failure. I don't like what they've done to you simply because I am alive," her words are carefully chosen, each syllable uttered in a way that displayed no pity, no ounce of remorse or care. Without Tairah, without the clan he once lead, Sachi has realized she doesn't want to be alone anymore. Perhaps fear of being rejected kept her away from her old family. Without Tairah who knows if the clan would still allow a non-vampire among their midst.  
_ _He looks up and meets her gaze, disbelief coursing through him.  
_ _"You called me here for that? You traveled all the way to Bravil from gods knows where, knowing there's a sanctuary here? You've climbed into the lions den to discuss becoming a lion?" He reels, almost insulted. She may be skilled, she may be clever, but this was down right stupid.  
_

 _"I am tired of running. Of fearing for my life and watching over my shoulder. I don't think I can live like this anymore. It was bad enough when Tairah was watching out for me but ever since you-..." she turns silent, suddenly aware of how personal this conversation has gotten. How did they get here?  
_ _"My superiors would never approve, and nor do I. You're pathetic. A child," he brings the hood back over his head and covers his face again but somehow his eyes still seem to catch the light of the moons like amber in the sunlight.  
_ _"You're a child too, Cicero." Her response is not one of spite but rather sincerity to bring him to her level- where he belongs. His eyes flicker up from the creaking boards of the dock and meet hers.  
_ _"I cannot let you walk away from here, Sachi." His voice is even and as hollow as the void.  
_ _"I know," she whispers, stepping backward.  
_

 _They stare at each other, neither one prepared to make a move but she knows it's now or never. In one swift movement Sachi pulls a small throwing blade from her sleeve and before he even has time to realise she's begun to attack its lodged in his thigh muscle. He shouts out in pain and falls to his knees, his hands instinctively going to the wound. Cicero pulls out the blade with shaking fingers and begins to laugh madly.  
_ _"Poison? Honestly! I expected better from a gifted mage! After our last farewell I had hoped to have my feet frozen to the floor again!" His words are spat, his balance beginning to shake as he holds pressure to the bleeding cut. The poison will act quickly, first weakening his muscles, lowering his self control both physically and then mentally, leaving him quite vulnerable.  
_ _"Haha_ haaaa _! I knew I liked you!" He waggles a finger at Sachi when she steps forward to collect her blade. As she bends to retrieve it Cicero grabs her by the front of her cloak and pulls her to the ground with his last ounce of strength. His eyes find hers one last time; unfocused, unseeing. "I am going to be_ so fucked _when I go home. Thanks again, kid," he releases her and drops to the ground motionless. She stares at him for a moment, her brow furrowed. There isn't much Sachi knows about the ways of the world- outside of killing kind travelers- but what she does know is when someone is scared. And this pathetic boy is terrified. Terrified and going home to be punished to within an inch of his life in just a few short hours.  
_

 _She stands and puts her hood back on, tucking away her stark white hair as she continues to stare at his lifeless form.  
_ _"I kind of like you too, Cicero."_

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

"You want me to _what_?" I stand still, soaked with blood but her question has captured my entire attention.  
The woman laughs and slides down from atop the wardrobe.  
"I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood," her voice is smooth, even. She throws me the key to the shack and I catch it without breaking eye contact.  
"Join the Brotherhood? Me?" I find it hard to breathe momentarily. I've been searching for these people for a year and just like that they pop up out of no where and invite me to join their little club because I killed 4 defenseless people. I don't respond immediately but rather look between the door and the mysterious woman.  
"You're free to go," she begins, clearly seeing the temptation I find in perhaps simply walking free. "But I must urge you to strive for something more than taking orders from small children and shill jobs for your little Guild."  
"You suggest taking orders from you would be better? Isn't that a little subjective?" I smirk, my tone humorous but my question is entirely serious as I glance behind me to the 3 lifeless corpses that lay sprawled across the wooden floor boards.  
"I would indeed say taking orders from me will be much more fitting to your... _abilities_."  
"A bold claim, _Astrid_." I put heavy emphasis on her name and she looks at me as if I just cussed her out. A stab in the dark - ohohoh- or so to speak but I doubt just any one could invite people to the Brotherhood. That seems like a job befitting the leader. A job for Astrid. She doesn't speak for a moment but eventually she laughs lightly, realization crossing her face.  
"Mallory."  
"My fence spoke fondly of your organisation."  
"You certainly seem to have your fingers in many pies." I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at her slightly suggestive innuendo.  
"And now I have one in yours," I grin widely and walk to the door, suddenly eager to leave.  
"I'll take that as a yes, then?" She walks up behind me as I unlock the door, the smell of rot and silt strong in the air outside. We must be near Morthal.  
"Absolutely."  
"Well then, allow me to lead you home, _sister._ "

 **~O~**

We stand outside the sanctuary and I notice the gentle humming of an ethereal heartbeat coming from within the door. It's kind of pretty. All around I can hear the endless chorus of chirping birds and see the thick, old pine trees of Falkreath. Falkreath... the town name plays on my tongue for a moment... Didn't that jester say he was headed here? I smile slightly and I can see his face clear as if he were right here in front of me. High cheek bones, a dusting of freckles across his nose and the faintest scar on his bottom lip...  
I turn my attention back to Astrid who is looking at the door now, her long braid reaching down to her shoulder blades.  
The door is black and adorned with the skeletal insignia of Sithis; Dread Father and ruler of the Void. I recognize the hand print on the skull's forehead and I think back on the mysterious note that weary courier had given me just a few days ago.  
"Astrid?" She turns to face me. "Will anyone be uncomfortable with my vampirism?" I don't really think something as minor as some pointy fangs would make my new family distrustful, after-all, in a place like this their bloodlust ought to match even mine!  
"Not at all. We already have a resident vampire, what's one more?" She smiles before turning back to the door and to my surprise, it speaks.  
" **What... is the music, of life**?" the door hisses and I feel my spine shudder; from trepidation or excitement I cannot tell.  
"Silence, my Brother." The door swings open giving way to a narrow stone stair case that descends into the rock formation. We enter and the opening closes behind us. Immediately I can smell wood rot and dust, not dissimilar from the Cistern but certainly different.

Astrid stops me in what appears to be the war/entrance room.  
"So, before you meet everyone and get settled, I'll fetch some spare armor of mine you can have." She walks away into a room off the side; I assume it's her bedroom. She returns with armor exactly like her own and hands it to me. "It should fit you quite well, sister. Enjoy," she gestures towards a small archway before heading back into her room and closing the door. Peculiar woman. Carrying my armor, feeling incredibly worn and beaten, I enter into a large cavernous area. I can't help but notice the many types of plants growing here and that a waterfall is happily pooling into a small pond. My eyes are drawn to a mysterious window with a skull similar to the Sanctuary entrance door looming above the mouth of the flowing falls. Eventually my attention is captured by a small group of people standing in a circle, talking animatedly to each other near a small forgery.  
I hang back out of sight and decide to eavesdrop for a moment, hoping to get a feel for their personalities. I see a short Argonian, a huge, white headed Nord, a tall elderly man dressed like a mage, a heavily cloaked Dark Elf woman, a small child and a Redguard man. Interesting mix. I lean against the cold stone archway and listen more intently. I can hear the voice of the child calling pitifully for help before she laughs heartily at her own impression. She seems twisted; I'm certain I will like her very much, oh yes! They regale stories to one another and everything seems to be so comfortable between them. I held my friend's at the Guild in high regard but something always felt... incomplete there. Perhaps in the company of these wretches I will be able to find out just what was missing.

The group disperses and I enter the room proper, walking past the Nord at the forgery who seems just as content to ignore me as I him. I had to admit my feelings towards his kind were bitter ones. An unfair prejudice and one I will work on. But not quite yet. I can smell him, and I know he can smell me. Werewolf and vampire. An unstable combo, oh definitely.  
I stalk toward the apparent training area and introduce myself to the Argonian, a pleasant fellow named Veezara. He seems to have a friendly charm about him.  
I follow after the other four who had gone upstairs and find the young child sitting at a table surrounded by alchemy ingredients.  
"Hello, initiate," her voice is smooth and cold but she doesn't look up from her potions. I stand in silence until she finally meets my eyes. She flashes me a devilish grin and I notice her fangs, white and deadly. Ah! So this is the vampire Astrid spoke of. I return her toothy grin and her eyes light up.  
"How old are you?" She asks, sitting back into her chair.  
"30. Yourself?" My grin lingers and hers grows wider when I give my answer.  
"300," she replies without skipping a beat. 300! Oh what a unique find to add to my collection of friends!  
"That explains so much, yet so little." She laughs and I am suddenly aware of another presence in the room. I turn to find the Dunmer sitting at the small table in the middle of the room. She is watching us intently, her brilliant red eyes are keen but kind. She stands up and puts out her hand and I shake it eagerly, careful not to drop my new armor. So many new faces, new friends!  
"Gabriella." She says with a voice that could melt a mans heart. I already like these two a great amount.  
"Sachi." I had considered using an assumed name considering how dark my dealings are bound to be in the Brotherhood but-. Astrid already knew my name before she had me taken to the shack near Morthal. A fake name was of no use here. I wonder if they know of my work as the Dragonborn? I groan internally at the thought. My work there was important and necessary but somehow it lacked. Nordic mythology just wasn't my strong suit and I was just glad to have it all behind me.

 **~O~**

The evening dragged on and eventually I had introduced myself to everyone, including the werewolf smith, Arnbjorn. I had found the large dorm easily enough, on the balcony above the kitchen. The room was warm and smelled pleasantly of whatever Nazir had made for dinner. Not that I could hope to appreciate the flavours in equal measure.  
Everyone had gathered at the dining table save for myself; I was busy setting up my new living space. I had claimed a bed and decided now was a good time to get dressed and try on my new armor. The leather felt almost alive to my touch, the fabric shimmered and _breathed_ an otherworldly energy. _Enchanted_. It couldn't hope to replace my elegant Nightingale armor but for the sake of my new 'siblings' I thought it best to at least try.  
Astrid was right- it fit me quite well. The warm, worn leather hugged to my body and I had to admit it looked quite nice. Although the buckles and buttons and straps were a definite challenge.  
I walked downstairs and the room fell silent, I could feel every pair of eyes on me. I did a dramatic twirl for them- Gabriella and Babette applauded me.  
"It suits you very well, sister." Astrid purrs and motions for me to take a seat next to her.  
"Let's see if the work suits you just as well," Nazir says as if challenging me. His blithe and presumptuous behaviour had me thirsting to prove him wrong about my skills.

Dinner passes quickly with lively chatter and plenty of good-natured ribbing. I spend the time in mostly silence, unsure of what to do with my hands as everyone else feasts. The smell is pleasant but the mere sight of food tends to make me queasy. I decide to follow Babette's lead; her calm and pleasant expression help ease me into this new ritual.  
Gradually the crowd begins to thin, as small as it was to begin with and soon even Babette is gone. I move to excuse myself but Astrid catches my arm. "Sachi, if you will indulge me I have some things to discuss with you." I sit back down and Astrid nods towards Arnbjorn, the only other person left in the room. He acknowledges her signal and leaves, his shoulders hunched.  
"Okay. What now?" I ask, titling my head to the side as if curious. Honestly, I'm just straight up tired. I'll have time for lively capering tomorrow when I'm well rested and capable of my usual comical antics- why couldn't her speech wait until then?  
"Well. What happens now is you start your new life in the Dark Brotherhood. You're part of the Family, after all. This, as you have seen, is our Sanctuary. You won't find a safer place in all of Skyrim. So get comfortable." She stares at me and when I don't respond she continues. "Now before I can let you retire for the day I need to tell you how things are run around here... Recently I have received word from someone known as 'The Keeper' who has traveled here to Skyrim from Cryodiil with precious cargo; our unholy matron, 'the Night Mother'. He was meant to be here months ago but his letters had stopped coming for a time..." She trails off momentarily, a hand raised to rub her chin. I take note that she likes to hear herself talk. Her words always seem either blunt or endless. "Soon, the Night Mother will arrive. And things around here are sure to get even more interesting."  
"More interesting?" I scoff but smile, trying to suppress an incoming yawn. This is a lot to absorb, especially after such a draining couple of days. The last thing I need is a history lesson on 'holy matrons' or whatever. "Look- Astrid, I don't really know much about your traditions-"  
"Bah, tradition! This Sanctuary has not followed the original 5 Tenants in decades. With no Listener to hear the Night Mother's words we've had to learn to fend for ourselves, to go out and find our own contracts. Look what 'tradition' got the Dark Brotherhood everywhere else! Extinction!" Her tone is sharp, her words obviously final despite my lack of actual contribution. I am stuck for a reply, suddenly aware that despite my best efforts I have found nothing substantial on the Dark Brotherhood at all for the past year I've been searching; they've been an exceedingly difficult bunch of folks to track down.

Astrid's words are mostly lost on me. 'Night Mother', 'Listener'? I just don't have the attention span for this. I've read many a book on the Brotherhood but I could never find anything substantial or reliable.  
Her eyes are searching me and I decide to give her an answer I hope will soothe her sudden mood swing. And let me retire for the day.  
"I'll be sure to serve you well, Astrid. But only _after_ a good nights rest." I smile at her and stand again, ready to sleep and forget the anxiety in her features when the subject of 'tradition' had been breached.


	4. Chapter 4

_It's been some time now since Sachi had rendered Cicero unconscious, his body limp and awkward on the rotting wooden dock. Eventually she sighs, knowing it won't be safe for him to be left lying here in the open. Her homemade poison had an unreliable duration of effectiveness and she didn't want him to be left unprotected and exposed like that. Not that she understands why.  
He's much bigger than she is and it takes a some time for her to move him into a place that is secluded, a little more private. She props him up into a sitting position against a tree and kneels beside him, biting her lip. Her hand reaches out, hesitating mere inches from his face before she finally pulls down his mask. There they are; the lacerations across his jaw._

 _"What happened here..." softly, carefully she puts a hand to his face, her fingers lightly brushing against the agitated flesh. "Stupid boy." She wants to ask him a million questions, her entire year spent wanting to know everything about him. His last name, his date of birth, his reasons for joining the Brotherhood- and his reasons for staying. She wants to know why he keeps letting his guard down around her- why he doesn't seem to be trying hard enough.  
_ _If things were so bad at home, why fail and let her go free? Surely their encounters to date weren't this kid's best shots. She examines the small wound on his leg, still bleeding. Her hands begin to move, to whisk through the air smoothly and effortlessly into a deliberate pattern, a golden glow beginning to form around her dancing hands. A healing spell, plain and simple. She presses a hand to the wound and it stops bleeding. The skin grows over, stretches and reforms into fresh and healthy skin.  
_ _She lets herself fall back and land on the ground in a sitting position, her eyes studying each and every angle of his face. High cheekbones, an almost permanently gaunt expression. Such dark circles beneath his usually fiery eyes..._

 _Sachi sits in quiet contemplation, her fingers drawing circles in the dirt. A bombardment of questions suddenly hit her, but not one of them is for Cicero.  
_ _Why did she care what happened to this stupid boy? Why did she seek him and the Brotherhood out when she knew they'd never take her? Why did the inevitable rejection hurt so much? Why doesn't she just kill him now and walk away? Her hands claim her face and she groans into her palms, stopping only when she hears Cicero begin to stir. Standing quickly, she covers her head with her hood and leaves him, watching from a far distance as he stands shakily, mumbling to himself. Soon the stumbling turns into a stand still, his mumbling changes into cursing. He slams a fist against the tree he was previously leaning on and falls to his knees. From here Sachi can see he's crying, bowed with his face pressed into the dirt as his body shakes with violent, silent wailing. She watches for a time until it's too much and she begins her long trek for Cheydinhal, desperate to wipe the sounds of his frantic gasping, his bruising fists repeatedly beating the ground in a fit of despair.  
_ _His body language is all too familiar and she remembers. It is an unwelcome feeling but it makes her realize why she cares._ Sachi remembers _._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

Those contracts were definitely more fun than any shill job for Vex had been. Dawnstar, Ivarstead and some small farming mill West of Windhelm. I particularly enjoyed being in Dawnstar so soon again. The salted air that rolled in off the waves always seemed to hit me in a most pleasant way.  
I placed my feet slowly, carefully one in front of the other, my left heel kicking against the tip of my right foot. One step, two step, three step... I held up a gloved hand and begin to tick off my marks.  
Dawnstar. Oh, she was a feisty one. Not as feisty as Cicero, oh, certainly not... I blinked, suddenly aware of how often I thought of that fool. A private thought, a private pleasure and only mine to know. No harm in letting my mind drift on his face a little more often than it should.  
Anga's Mill, West of Windhelm. A paranoid fellow and with just cause! So silly to be camped so close to such _slippery_ rocks. So easy to fall and crack your head open on a mossy stone. So easy indeed, as that's exactly what he did. I didn't even need to lay a single, itching hand on him!  
Ivarstead. Killing a slightly ' _wrong'_ homeless man was hardly what I'd consider a good time, but the resulting battle with Ivarstead's lax guard population was more fun than I'd anticipated. However, it was duly noted not to let my future victims go screaming toward the Inn across the stream to alert the townsfolk.

Three contracts, each completed, even if the last two weren't quite as neatly executed as planned. Hah! Executed! I laugh outload and startle a nearby branch of birds who take flight into the dusty coloured sky.  
I wonder where my jester is... He undoubtedly would have found that funny.  
The receding, cool winds of North-East Skyrim give way to the warmer climate of Falkreath and I am grateful for the fresh smell of pine trees. The snow is long gone now; the steady crunch of ice under-toe replaced by the cracking of twigs, the rustling of dead leaves. The forest is pleasant, the afternoon sun hanging low in the distance. I can hear the whirring of a nearby Spriggan but they don't pay me any attention; although I'm sure Babette would appreciate a fresh taproot in her varied collection of rare ingredients.  
I clench my fists absentmindedly, the tight leather creaking slightly against the tension. My first contracts in new armor. It had served me well, their many enchantments as handy as any on my Nightingale armor, but still- the new humming leather didn't feel like home quite as much as the tight embrace of Lady Nocturnal's blessing.

I find the road and follow it until I break off onto the dirt path leading down and away from the main pebbled thoroughfare. I find the small clearing and the smaller inky black pool of water, its surrounding rings of Nightshade giving off an elegant perfume. It was nice to be home.  
A question, an answer, and I was inside past the thrumming door, eager to rub my success in Nazir's smug face. I pull at my gloved fingers with my teeth, freeing them one by one before finally tucking the smooth leather accessories under my arm as I pass through the war room. Astrid's absence is noticed, but not thought about for long when I come to a stop in the archway to the cavernous main room. I see her there along with all my Brothers and Sisters. I see them, but I do not see them quite as clearly as I see the ridiculous red and black motley, adorned with swirling gold trim that seems to sparkle by the fire light. I do not hear them as I hear him with his excited gestures and his face animated in eager speech as he stands beside the familiar crate. My face is covered by my hood and facecloth and I decide to hang back until their conversation has concluded. I can't believe the scene before me.  
"... But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?" No. Way.  
"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished'." This is too good to be true.  
"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey, you can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition." You have got to be kidding me.  
"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady's favor." I can hardly contain the broad smile spreading behind my facemask. His voice is shrill and excited and I cannot imagine a more pleasant surprise. My little jester is one of us! Oh, how I knew he was something very special indeed! I see Astrid step forward, ready to speak. I strain to hear her, unwilling to miss even a single octave that escapes her delicate throat.

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... _husband_?" She finishes and turns to her loyal sheepdog. 'Keeper'? He's the damned Keeper we've been waiting on? He should have been here much earlier than now, even after all the disruptions I myself caused him... What took him so long?  
Arnbjorn grunts in response and leaves the circle.  
"Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!" He clasps his hands and bounces on the balls of his feet and Astrid stares in abject horror. Her blatant discomfort and tone give away her absolute insincerity.  
"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?" Astrid moves forward again, a little closer than comfortable to Cicero who does not shy away but rather agrees eagerly.  
"Oh _yes_ , mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss!" And with that the group of on lookers disperse, including Astrid who finally notices me lurking in the shadows by the stone archway.  
"Ah, there you are. Good, I was done speaking with that muttering fool anyway. We've got some business to discuss." She leads me back into the center of the war room, a hand to her mouth as she begins to pace. Her shoulders are bunched and she seems to look much older than usual. Stress? But why? With someone like Cicero around how could you feel anything but joy? I notice suddenly that I myself am rolling back and forth on the balls of my feet. I stop in mild wonder. How _infectious_!  
"You have that contract you mentioned for me?" I prompt her to speak, assuming this little meeting is in regards to the vague contract she promised me if I managed to complete Nazir's three.  
Astrid scowls deeply but replies quickly, her words seeming to spill out of her mouth automatically. "I do indeed. You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. You'll probably find her in the shop, The Hag's Cure. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out." She doesn't look up from the floor while her pacing seems stiff and twitchy.  
"Markarth?" A filthy place but oh, what fun I've had there! I was thrown in jail, I was assaulted by a murderer and I was chosen as Champion for Molag Bal! A lovely city, in my opinion. It's tall spires were impressive, the multi-leveled design mind boggling. "Okay... is there anything else I need to know about this contract? Any rules?"  
"Just do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are." She gives me a brief smile before turning her attention to the knife-impaled map on the stone table.

I leave quickly, my mind in no place to think about contracts what with my curiosity at an all time high regarding my new-found ' _brother_ '. I really ought to have guessed this, but his delayed arrival must have thrown me off before I could even think about making the connections. I enter the main room and find everyone is gone but Veezara who sits in meditation in the training area, and of course, Cicero.  
I raise a hand to my face and make sure its hidden, my gloves still tucked under my other arm. I decide to creep up on him, a test for myself considering he found me stalking him so easily on the road from Dawnstar just a few weeks ago. I edge closer but he seems entirely captivated by his thoughts, apparently unconscious to the quiet song dancing on his lips. I'm within reaching distance and note that the song has stopped; he's heard me. Oh yes, he's heard me but he doesn't turn. I lean forward and put my hands on his shoulders, bringing my body to press against his back. He's still deadly silent and I wonder what he could possibly be thinking.  
"You're rather late, you know." I purr into his ear and he finally pulls away to spin and face me. A fluid motion, a bright smile on his face, my queer behavior not even slightly putting him off.  
"Another member of the Family! Hello, hello. So _very_ good to meet you." A moment of silence and I decide he's not recognized me, what with my face covered and this new armor. I look to the crate and tap a bare finger to my chin in thought.

So? He really was transporting his 'Mother'? I'm sure Loreius would be rolling in his grave. Well, supposing they found enough of him worth burying.  
I lift a leg unusually high to the side before I slowly place it down again and begin to circle him with exaggerated motions. He watches me, his smile never wavering. I can see in the half light his eyes are bright despite the heavy, purple rings beneath them. If he wasn't nearly always smiling I'm sure he'd look exhausted. My eyes cast downward and I take note again of the thin, faint scar on his bottom lip. One day, I'll ask him how he got that.  
"How do you feel about games, jester?"  
"Games? Ohh, Cicero loves games, sister!" He rolls on the balls of his feet and I'm tempted to copy him again.  
"Played any good games of _cat and mouse_ lately?" I grin as the recognition flickers across his face.  
"Wait, oh wait. I know you! Yes, yes. From the road! Cicero never forgets a face." He snickers, a gloved hand at his mouth. "Or rather, a voice!"  
I take off my hood and reveal my white, braided hair. The facemask goes next and his eyes dart to my shining white fangs, a look of glee on his face.  
"You left quite the impression as well!" I reply with a laugh, my hand on my hip.  
"Cicero would certainly hope so, after-all, you tried to eat him!" He cracks up laughing and bends forward, a hand on my shoulder for support.  
"I fixed your wheel, didn't I?" I try to keep from laughing but it's no use.  
"Oh yes! You certainly helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, _tried_ to get him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget that you were the one who fixed our cart," he speaks so wildly, I can't help but hang on to every single word.

"That's good." I watch him, our eyes lingering far too long on each other as we search for something new to say. "You know, I hope you settle in here as well as I did. They seem to have a way of finding misfits like ourselves." I offer a smile, genuine and rather out of character. I saw how Astrid scowled at him. I saw her pacing and her concerned expressions. I don't know why but something about her _willingness_ to judge him so quickly really ticked me off. The least I could do was make sure he had at least one friend here.  
"So polite! So nice! Cicero likes you. The Night Mother is sure to like you too." He certainly likes talking about that dead 'Mother' of his, huh. I grin at him and decide I ought to let him get back to work.  
"Well, _Keeper_ ," I extend my bare hand and he takes it with both of his just like he did before. "I ought to leave you to your duties- whatever that entails. I'll come by to check on you later, if you'd like!" He grips my hand and I get the faintest feeling he would rather not let me go. His gloves are soft, well worn but the delicate, careful stitching tells me they've been meticulously cared for. I wonder what his hands look like-  
"Cicero would like that very much! Farewell, sister!" And just like that he lets go of my hand and the warmth is gone. He turns to inspect the crate again and I leave him in peace, headed for my bed.  
In the dining hall I find Nazir reclining in a chair with his feet on the table.  
"Could you go help the jester? That crate's awful big for just him." I say nonchalantly as I pass him by on my way towards the dorm.  
"I'd rather not. He got here just fine by himself." He doesn't look up from his stack of papers.  
"Why not?" I stop walking and approach him directly, speaking slowly with my hands behind my back.  
"I don't like jesters." He lowers the papers finally and stares at me with deliberate indifference.  
"You're kidding?" I say sarcastically. As if I couldn't tell. "Can't you please just do this for me?" I don't know how asking him to do it for me would make things any better- as far as I know he still doesn't like me. I walk behind him and grab either side of the chair's back support.  
"When did you even get back-?" I tip the chair forward and he falls out, just narrowly avoiding a total collapse onto the floor. I'm not expecting a good response but instead he rights himself, huffs at me and leaves for the main room. "Alright, _initiate_ , if it'll get you out of my hair for 5 minutes," I hear him call out to me as he walks away and I laugh.  
Considering Nazir is someone practiced in murdering people just for fun or for coin, I sure do seem beyond comfortable pushing that tetchy Redguard around. Literally.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _"Three times you have failed, brother. Three times you have disappointed me, all of us and yourself. What say you in your defense?"  
A show. An extravagant play to go with his brothers' and sisters' meals while he kneels on the stone, his head bowed in complacency at Latrell's feet once again. Snickering can be heard from the dwindling masses of what remains of the Bravil Sanctuary, faces huddled together in cliques, jeering, snorting, huffing.  
"I have no excuse, Latrell," Cicero says weakly, his senses still numbed from the Bosmer child's poisoned blade.  
Silence befalls the room for they know what follows this grim admittance.  
"You have brought shame upon the Dark Brotherhood, Cicero." He looks up to address the crowd who all stand idly by, now used to this display of ridicule at the initiate's expense. "What should we do to teach him a lesson, my dear siblings?" Latrell raises his arms above his head, revealing a belt he had tucked away in his sleeve. Cicero glances up, tears welling in his eyes as the crowd begins to chant in unison; "Punishment, punishment, punishment, punishment."  
He falls froward onto his hands, his knuckles turning white as he balls his fists against the stone floor, waiting for the pain. A show. A remarkable play._

 _Midst the crowd's rising cries a voice stands out. "You, are a waste. You have done nothing for the Brotherhood. Do not forget your mistakes." Latrell spits, hitting Cicero in the back of the head.  
A burst of anger splits him from his path of submission for only a moment as he utters, just loud enough, "I will not forget my mistakes as you have forgotten my victories."  
A second of satisfaction before a foot collides harshly with Cicero's mouth, busting open his lip. The main hall of the sanctuary erupts into roars of approval, shouting from every corner of the room as he lay bleeding, crying. The screams hit an all time high as the belt is raised. A show. Rehearsed, practiced, executed.  
With a sickening crack the belt strikes down on the young boy, his cries rebounding off the walls only to be drowned out by continued cheering.  
"You brought this on yourself!" Another rip through the air and the belt slashes through clothing. Skin; white, pink, red, blue, purple and again. And again. And again. A scream, a shriek, an agonized cry that turns into a violent sobbing that rattles every joint in his body. His throat is raw, he coughs and blood splatters the slate ground, and again, and again. He is sick, no longer able to cry or scream, left only with the sensation of being turned forcefully inside out. The bile seeps into the ragged flesh inside his throat causing a second upheaval. Such a distasteful display is worthy of another couple lashings. A show. A parade of the refined art that tore a man to pieces with a scrap of metal and a strap of leather._

 _Finally it stops, the blood trickling down the numb and freshly ravaged skin along his rib cage and onto the floor, pooling beneath him as he shakes in his own sick. Throbbing welts stacked high atop each other in a brilliantly twisted myriad of colours.  
The crowd is whistling; how can they shout for so long but not he? What is it that keeps them from coughing up crimson, throwing up bile?  
Cicero curls into himself, the easiest part of the day is over, the crowds wailing finally receding to a more comfortable background level. Things begin to fade but he knows this respite will not be for long, for this is only the show. An extravagant play. It has been rehearsed, practiced and finally executed. But now the fun begins at the after hours party, behind the stage after the curtains fall, leaving all the unknowers, unknowing._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

"Nazir was helpful, I trust?" I peer between a narrow crack in the obsidian chapel doors and find Cicero standing in front of the half open coffin. The ominous stained glass mural of Sithis seems to flood the room with a distinct blood red light from just behind the Night Mother's new shrine. I can't see into the coffin and when he hears my voice he slams the doors shut and spins to face me. "My, my, aren't we jumpy today?"  
As always, he's beaming at me, his hands behind his back as he saunters towards the doors.  
"Are you going to spy on Cicero all day or will you come inside?" He pulls the door open for me and I slip through, my eyes drawn to inspect the shrine properly. The sarcophagus is enormous- certainly big enough to warrant the crate it had traveled in. I look to Cicero who watches me with mild delight as if to encourage me to assess his work.  
The grand casket is made entirely of a blackened iron and I can't help but admire the many intricate markings engraved symmetrically across the circular tomb from top to bottom. The very top of the coffin is adorned with Sithis's skeletal figurehead.  
"You moved this? From Cryodiil? By _yourself_?" I would hardly believe four people together could move something so huge, _so far-_ let alone one small jester _.  
_ "That's correct." His arms are folded as he watches me intently, my mind drinking in the scene slowly, trying to appreciate every detail.

The air is thick with deathbell and I recognize the familiar scent of Nightshade from just outside the Sanctuary. Impressive candelabras hold numerous scented candles made of a fine white wax, their twisting smoke tendrils giving the room a heavy but pleasant haze. The shrine is surrounded by several fresh flower bouquets tied off with bits of red string. Books are piled around the outer sides, their contents undoubtedly relevant to the Brotherhood in one way or another.  
"It's beautiful," I breathe, the smoke is almost intoxicating when mixed with such potent floral fragrances. When Cicero doesn't speak I turn to find he's busy dusting off one of the many decrepit benches, minding his own business.  
"Did you do all this?" I doubt Nazir would have stuck around to give such attention to detail after moving the Might Mother's coffin in here.  
This time my louder tone gains the fool's attention. "Why, yes! Is Sachi impressed?" He gives me a sly smile and I hardly have the will to argue.  
"Extremely." I sit down on a bench and pat the spot next to me, asking him to join me. He stares at me vacantly as if not understanding before he finally takes his seat. "So, is this your job? Is this all you do? Is this all 'Keeping' entails?"  
"Oh, well. Yes, but Cicero also takes care of our Lady's body. Oils it, preserves it, keeps it safe. Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's coffin. Or her shrine!" His answer is surprisingly concise and I grin at him.  
"Must be exhausting." I can imagine there are many a government official that'd like to 'disrespect' our Matron's coffin. He doesn't reply but the dark circle's beneath his cheery eyes give him away. Extremely exhausting.  
I put a leg over the bench to face him properly and he copies me. I can't help but be reminded of that night in Dawnstar all those weeks ago when we sat as we do now with all those unspoken questions, uncertain intentions.  
"In Dawnstar- at the Inn..." I shuffle around for the right words, trying to pick one question out of an extremely long and unorganized mental list. "You had a small journal... does that have anything to do with your Keeping duties?" My question sounds more impersonal than intended.  
"Ohhh, Sachi's been incredibly attentive to simple Cicero," he gives me a devilish grin when he leans in towards me. This fool is an expert in runabout ways of conversation and backwards questioning.  
"You're the attentive one, jester." I reply simply, closing my eyes as I slowly inhale the bold spices in the air. I feel as if I could get lost in here... "And I don't think you're all that 'simple' either."  
"What makes you say that, dear sister?" I open one eye, careless to how silly I may look in my zoned out state.  
"Just a feeling."

 **~O~**

I never can get enough sleep. The sanctuary is ringing with dead silence, the soft glow of dying embers from downstairs in the kitchen tells me it must be well after midnight. All around me I can hear the steady breathing of my new siblings, the sound surprisingly pleasant. I sit up, my body stiff and uncooperative. The chill in the air rattles me despite the warmth of my blankets and I decide that trying to get back to sleep will be no use.  
I stand, barefoot and freezing against the slate stone floor as I walk towards Babette's room to see if she's awake. I peer into her room and find even she has retired for the night, small and curled up on her bed. I walk silently back towards the bedroom, ghosting through the sanctuary while unsure of what to do with myself. I can hear the gentle humming of Cicero every time I near his room but something tells me to not disturb him. At least this way he has more chance of getting some rest. Those dark circles must be there for a reason, after-all.  
Eventually I resort to sitting down by the waterfall, the gentle splash of water is soothing after so much silence. Above me I can see the flickering candle light through the stained glass window, the multi-coloured shadows seem to dance all around me. I wonder if he intends to keep those candles burning all the time...

"I wonder why you're not sleeping, sister," I jump, nearly falling into the pool.  
" _Why would you do that_?" I hiss between my teeth at Cicero who stands behind me, bent forward so far I'm surprised he hasn't fallen over. When he only laughs at me I realize my question wasn't meant to be why but rather _how_. How in the world did he sneak up on me like that?  
Cicero sits down suddenly with a casual ' _thump_ ' on the ground next to me, his legs crossed.  
"That doesn't answer Cicero's question, now does it?" He leans in against my arm and nudges me with his shoulder.  
"Why should I give you one?" I retort with a sly smile. He wants to play? I'll play.  
"Because Cicero asked nicely!" The light flickers across his face; a mix of deep reds and blues.  
"Why are _you_ awake, Keeper?" Now there's a question I'd like answered.  
"A new place, a new family! I'm too excited to sleep! So many new things!" He trills, laughter behind his words despite the fact I know he's lying.  
"Mmmm." I lean back on the ground, staring up into the high ceiling of the cavern with my arms behind my head. "But those nasty circles beneath your eyes aren't 'new'."  
Cicero mimics my position next to me as he frequently does; following my lead.  
"Neither are Sachi's," he whispers back to me, a small smile lacing his hushed words.


	5. Chapter 5

" _What_ ," my voice is a growl as that wretched jester stares down at me. His eyes light up when I speak but I turn over, determined to ignore him. I am half asleep and I will not sit up, not even for him and his stupid smile and his stupid freckles.  
"Sachi should wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!" He takes the edge of my blanket and rips it off me. I am so close to flaying him alive and peeling that pretty, tanned skin off his flesh. I roll onto my stomach with my head buried into my pillow, unwilling to even look at him as he carries on waving my blanket around his head.  
"The fool should walk away before I electrify him again." My speech is muffled but the jester's louder giggling tells me he heard my warning and is, as always, unfazed by my threats.  
"Ohhh but we both know your shocks don't hurt me!" He lets the blanket fall to the ground and his hands are suddenly on my bed by my arm as he leans in. I can feel his breath on my pointed ear and I tense up; the heated prickling sensation across my cheeks tell me I'm blushing. _Why- for the love of Sithis, why are my ears so sensitive_? I bury my face deeper into my pillow to hide my shame from his leering scrutiny. "But the same cannot be said for my favourite shirt." His voice is flat now and I look up at his incredibly pathetic pout which is a mere 3 inches away from my own face.  
"I am going to actually kill you, Keeper." I hiss at him through my teeth; the lingering, visible heat on my face is surely giving him endless delight beneath that ridiculous frown.  
Quick as lightening Cicero leans back away from my face, taking my pillow with him. He darts out of sight with it before he yells back at me.  
"The Keeper would like to see Sachi try it!"

I jump to my feet and resist the urge to scream bloody murder. I tear down the hall towards the chapel and I can hear him in his room. I split off to the left and find him standing on his bed, my pillow held in front of his chest. He's staring at me, as if to dare me to try and get it from him.  
I move my hands and they ignite into a flurry of flame and the fool whistles in mock admiration.  
"Drop. The pillow." My voice is a warning but Cicero just dangles it in front of me.  
"Come over here and get it," he coos at me with half lidded eyes and I don't know if that's making me want to laugh or be more irritated.  
Cicero kept me up well past 6am and now he want's to deprive me of even more sleep? Doesn't he _ever_ sleep?  
The heat in my hands is making my palms sweat but I keep my eyes trained on my pillow. I'm not sure if the game's still on or if this has become a more serious matter now. Either way I'm not going to let him win!  
I extinguish my fire spells, walk over to where Cicero stands on his bed and I've decided the time for fair play is over. I stand looking up at him and I know he expects me to try and grab the pillow from his taunting grip. Our eye contact lasts far too long, each person trying to predict the other's next move while he smiles down at me with a racing pulse and lungs that fight to mobilize against his excitement.  
I know he's still expecting me to leap for my pillow when instead, I lean down and take his and then leave the room. Behind me I can hear him jump off the bed before he calls out, "You don't play fair, sister!" My head rolls back and I bark a laugh.  
"There aren't any rules to play fairly by!"  
He runs to catch up with me, his hands no longer holding my pillow hostage.  
"What if we played a different game? A game with rules!" He laughs and hops from foot to foot.  
"What kind of game?" Honestly, even though I'm still half asleep he's managed pique my interest.  
"Ohhh, Cicero thinks Sachi will like this game, oh yes. _Definitely_." I'm not sure if its the dark glint in his eyes or the way his voice dropped several octaves when he spoke but I'm already dying to find out what new game he has in mind.

 **~O~  
**

"Oh the Gods- what is _wrong_ with you?" Between bouts of laughter I manage to shout at him as he stands on the table in the Falkreath Inn. The room is filled with drunkards who roar with laughter as the jester performs joke after joke, dance after dance on the counter while people cheer in unison. I sit on a stool right at the counter, looking up at him as he expertly entertains the room full of Nords; his every breath a new rhyme, a new punchline. I am jostled and rocked in the small ocean of sweaty men but my attention is on only Cicero as I note each and every detail of the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he laughs. The rise and fall of the tone in his voice, the savvy expression on his face as each person is pranked in turn with witty banter. I've never seen him like this- in his social element, entertaining as only a jester can do. I find myself oddly compelled to join him, but my ineptitude prevents me for fear of ruining his captivating act. I was never the type for conventional humor but it would seem as though I'm definitely the type for Cicero.

Certainly no one at the Sanctuary would have time for him like this- I hardly could believe these Nords even would. They always seemed so serious, so bound to tradition and honor- too 'stoic' for something as Imperialistic as a jester. But here they all were, in joyful riot. Whether it was the mead or the repeated chorus of the 'Legendary Dragonborn', they certainly seemed in the mood for celebration this evening.  
 _This evening.._. Ah! My eyes flick across the surrounding waves of stumbling huntsmen and I spot the young gentleman again. Small, timid, obviously not in his element as he sits alone with a waterskin in the corner.  
My eyes darts back up to Cicero and he's staring at me even through his dance atop the table. All I can do is grin at him from behind my facemask, an overwhelming sense of pride swelling inside my chest for my sad pet jester. As long as that small gentleman remains seated, I'll let the Keeper have his fun. Besides, it's nice being out in my Nightingale armor again and away from Astrid's glaring.

Eventually the crowds of shouting men grow thin as they stumble back home or retire to the privacy of their rented rooms. Outside the Inn I can hear a drunken brawl breaking out; the clearest sign of a goodnight out. Cicero finishes his last joke with an exuberant flourish and then bids his audience goodnight. My head is propped up on my hands as I lean forward, Cicero now sitting on the edge of the table. He beams at me as if asking my opinion of his show and I can do little but smile. His act was flawlessly hilarious and I can think of few things I would ever rather do than simply watch him capering for the masses. Or perhaps just for me. I offer him my hand when I get to my feet and he takes it graciously before hopping down from the table, a pink flush across his face after so much dancing. He weaves his arm around mine and pulls me in close to him, his mouth at my ear.  
"Did Sachi find one?" His breath on my ear almost makes me start shaking.  
"I did, indeed!"  
"Where is he?" I tug on his arm and lead him towards the young gentleman who remains alone at the table in the corner. Cicero is still leaning into my arm as we approach the young man dressed in mage's robes.  
"Are you all alone this evening?" I lace my words with laughter and the man looks up at me, slightly mortified.  
"E-excuse me?" Now this is how I had imagined Cicero to behave all those weeks ago in Dawnstar. The boy looks up at me with wide eyes, his voice a nervous stutter.  
"Are you waiting on anyone?"  
"Uh-... No? No! I'm about to head home actually."  
"Where do you live, sugar?" Cicero leans into my neck then and I can feel his breath on my skin in short, hot bursts; he's laughing at my facade. How rude.  
"I live out near Half Moon Mill." His voice is quiet and as nervous as ever and in all honesty, it's almost cute. _Almost_. But like Cicero in Dawnstar, he's attracted the attention of a _very_ hungry cat.  
"My, that's a fair walk from here. We would know, too! We're also here from that way!" I gesture to Cicero who seems content to rest his head on my shoulder. He flashes the boy a smile, his arm still entwined with mine.  
"Would you mind if we tagged along with you? The wife tends to get us awfully lost," the fool laughs loudly and I nearly choke at the word ' _wife_ '. So that's how he wants to play the game?  
"Well my _husband_ here is illiterate. Can't read a map to save his life." He elbows me in the ribs and I laugh sharply in pain.  
"N-no not at all!" He stands too fast and knocks the table, its contents spilling onto the floor with an unceremonious crash. I instinctively lift a gloved hand up to Cicero's mouth and cover it before he can laugh at this mess of a boy.  
"Wonderful!" I say, taking him by the arm and dragging them both towards the doors, leaving the table's contents in a heap on the floor.

The fresh night air fills my rotted lungs and I am grateful for it after so long inside with sweaty drunkards. Cicero clings to my arm still while the boy travels at a brisk pace next to me.  
"What's your name?" I ask suddenly, making sure my voice remains as airy and happy as it had been at the Inn. The path beneath our feet becomes slowly more and more unkempt as we leave Falkreath behind us, the town's dull glow receding quickly from view. The trees rise up thick and fast and the wind surrounds us with the sharp scent of pine and damp fauna.  
"Wilton, ma'am." He speaks quietly, holding tightly to the hood of his mage's robes as a particularly strong wind kicks up as if to only spite him.  
"When will the game begin?" The jester's mouth is at my ear and again I have to keep from shuddering. Cicero grips my arm with a tight squeeze, urging me to answer or to act. I can't steer them away from the path now that the fool has told the boy I'm 'prone to getting lost'- perhaps his best joke all night. It'll have to be here on the road.  
Wilton's breathing is fast and I can tell by the sound of his pulse that something frightens him. I have to admit I'm curious about this odd man.  
"My name's Vash, and this is-"  
"Cicero!" He cuts me off before I even have time to consider a pseudo name. Someone's feeling bold... To be dressed so recognizably _and_ use his real name? He's mad.  
"Something tells me you're not usually the type to go out to the local bar? What's different about today, Wilton?" Offhandedly I shoot a question while Cicero deliberately syncs his steps with mine, although his footfalls are comparatively silent through the leaf-litter even as he continues to grip my arm awkwardly.

"Well, I live pretty far out of town... and my necr-... _work_ keeps me from really meeting anyone... I thought I'd try and have a go at being _social_." There's a vague twinge of disgust across his face when he spits the word 'social'. 'Necr'? Necromancy? No... he's too fragile for something so macabre... Isn't he? Cicero shoots me a look and I can feel my adrenaline beginning to coarse roughly through my brittle veins. He's ready, I am ready, but is Wilton?  
"That seems like a lovely idea! Lot's of interesting people to meet in town!" I push myself to speak at an even pace despite how hot and clammy my hands are- how loud my ears are ringing- how hazed my vision is becoming.  
I look behind us and can see nothing but the trail drifting away between the trees into a harsh darkness. My gloved fingers are twitching now and I want them off. I _need_ them off, I need my bare hands free and crawling, clawing at this man's throat. Cicero's inane trilling has come to a stop and his eyes watch me with silent, yet piercing interest. His grip on my arm tightens again before he lets go entirely and I take it as his confirmation that now is the perfect time. _Now._  
"I'd have to say you two are the most interesting I've met thus far." I stop walking as Wilton speaks, his voice suddenly very smooth and casual. Professional. Perhaps even rehearsed. "I know my fellow scholars are going to enjoy your company." I look at Cicero in confusion and he's positively _beaming_. "As test subjects, of course." I begin to ask what the boy's rabbling about when Cicero picks me up. He carries me a good 7 meters down the path we'd just walked and places me down at an unbelievable speed. With slight effort I find my balance and look to where I was just standing, my mind in a mild daze. I can see shards of rough, jagged ice climbing like finger tips through the ground and I immediately know why Cicero had picked me up. Wilton is laughing now and it seems to crackle through the air like sharp thunder as waves of visible cold roll off and around the ice shards. _He wants to play_! In my peripheral vision I notice that Cicero is no longer grinning- in fact, he looks more angry than I'd ever seen anyone. I'm almost flattered!

I scream a wild laugh and it drowns his out before I ignite my hands with blistering flames.  
"I hope you can dance, _kid_!"

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _It is late, the cold night air penetrating even the murky depths of Bravil Sanctuary. The fires are out and the initiate is still laying on the floor in disgrace. His blood has dried and cracked in a pool around him but a hasty healing spell had stopped most the bleeding hours ago. The haven is as silent as the void until he can hear the muffled sound of movement and again, through his exhaustion, he begins to quiver. The after hours party has arrived at long last and the suspense is at its close. Through the doorway Cicero can see the faintest flickering of torch light dancing off the walls. The brightness grows until it's an almost blinding explosion of crackling flame when Latrell finally enters the room. Cicero's arms twitch, joints creak, skin drags against the stone through dried blood as he fights to move, to back away. His eyes adjust through painful straining and he can see his Master now. His expression is_ twisted _into a gentle smile. Unnatural. He offers a hand to Cicero who knows better than to decline- than to disobey when his Master is calling. He knows better than to make a bad situation worse.  
_ _"You know I hate doing that, my dear," he purrs as Cicero gets to his feet. He bites his tongue to keep from back-chatting, struggling to push the images of that cruel sneer Latrell always wears when wielding that godforsaken belt. The initiate is upright now, his body screaming in agony as new rushes of blood rips through partially dried wounds, courses through blisters and contusions; some still the size of his own hand. Latrell tuts and moves his hands to gingerly remove the rags slung bloodied around Cicero's shoulders, draped like crusted spiderwebs across his aching back. The cloth is stuck, dried to the skin under flaking patches of blood. He peels the cloak's remains free, taking skin with it. A healing spell and a few kind words and the mess is gone, leaving only light scars. As always.  
Cicero sighs heavily, the pain gone and his mind clearing, finally. How _hilarious it is _that hours of suffering alone on a cold slate floor could be ended so easily by the same person who dealt the pain to begin with. How hilarious indeed.  
_ _"All better," Latrell utters, putting a hand on Cicero's lower back and steering him towards the hallway through which he had just come. The deafening sound of warning bells ring off inside the boy's head and he knows. He's been waiting. Expecting. Dreading.  
_ _His mind reels, acutely aware of whats going on. In the half light of the wavering torch Cicero begins to blink erratically, his head shaking minutely from side to side. He wants to stop, he wants to go back to laying half dead on the floor, even that- even anything would be better than the nightmare that awaits him. All this yet his body refuses to stop and he continues walking, Latrell completely unaware of the violent battle raging inside his younger companion. They reach the bedroom, both of them silent as Latrell reaches the far wall bookcase and activates a hidden lever which opens the book case wide. Cicero is shaking now, his body tensing, biting his lip and trying his best to keep the itching heat in his eyes at bay. Latrell steps down into the stone passage, pushing Cicero ahead of him, still ignoring the boy's wishes to run. The bookcase swivels back shut and Cicero jumps at the noise. Flash backs compiled entirely of every single time he'd walked down this exact passage way assault him, his fear inclining rapidly higher with every step he took. Latrell's hands are soft, pressing lightly into his scarred skin as he begins to hum a familiar song that chills him to the bone; his happy song. Cicero knows it very well._

 _Cicero watches as the passage opens up finally into a small stone room, deep bellow the Sanctuary and far from prying eyes. A single bench lay in the middle of the room, a small basin of water and a cloth lay atop a wooden end table. And then there's the rack. The rack of 'toys' and chains next to the crackling fireplace. His eyes grow wide, his hands twitching, atoms itching, cells scrambling. He moves to turn around but two gentle hands come to rest on his shoulders.  
_ _"Cicero. you know better than to misbehave," he whispers, his voice gentle. He may only be 30 but there's something wise about him, about how he pulls his black hair back into an immaculate ponytail, the way his eyes narrow when he's spoken to.  
Latrell's rise to power through the ranks was legendary. He'd earned his place by playing the game, following the rules and only focusing on his goal of power. But now he bends the rules, he breaks the tenants, he defies everything the Brotherhood stands for and yet no one knows to even question him. No one dares make even a side glance at this man for it may very well be their last. And Latrell knows the spell he's woven. He knows because he's trained them all to 'behave'. To beg like dogs in the dirt, to roll over when told to. To speak in turn and follow blindly. But still the others do not know what Cicero knows. They do not know what Latrell does behind his book case in the depths of Bravil. No one knows how far his demonic desires go. But Cicero knows. _

_Latrell moves suddenly and presses his body against Cicero's back, hands reaching around his neck from behind. His clawed finger nails dig ever so lightly against his throat and physical repulsion hammers through Cicero's core, his body shuddering in pure_ distaste _. He does not move. He does not flinch. He breathes slowly, still as a statue and tries not to throw up again. A soft kiss is pressed to the nape of his neck. Twisted.  
_ _"You know why I have to do this," he whispers against his skin before violently pushing him forward towards the bench."You need to learn your lesson, my pet."  
He moves quickly to pin his subordinate down, strapping him to the table while Cicero refuses to even struggle. There is no chance he could beat Latrell unarmed and alone in his most adrenaline fueled state. When the hunger takes Latrell, very few things can break his focus._

 _Cicero stares at the ceiling; his arms, legs and chest bound tightly to the stone table. Latrell stares at him, taking in every single centimeter of his victim, wondering where to start. He rounds the table to Cicero's side, moving his head mere inches from Cicero's ear. They're both shaking, their wills colliding in a crash of sweat and blood, anguish and domination. His voice is a whisper, his hands curling around the edge of the bench, his desires becoming entirely uncontrollable as his knuckles turn white.  
_ _"I promise to be gentle," Latrell finally says, his breath hot on Cicero's ear. The boy barks a laugh in response, his mind bitter but still full of fear. He knows there will be no restraint this evening in his master's behaviour. In fact it will be worse than ever. After a beating that bad his emotions can only be running at their highest and most volatile.  
_ _The laughter does not come cheap. Latrell withdraws from his side and moves to unstrap Cicero's right arm in a flurry, his actions erratic but well practiced. In one simple motion after his arm is free, Latrell snaps it backwards at the elbow joint over his thigh. The sound it elicits from Cicero is delicious. A compound fracture bursts straight through the initiate's skin, splattering a generous amount of blood across the floor and Latrell's clothes. He moves a rough hand to cover Cicero's mouth, his breaths long and strained as he tries to scream against the palm. He's crying now but refuses to resist.  
_ _"Don't get smart with me again."  
He strokes the boy's hair now that Cicero has fallen silent again, noting the frantic rise and fall of his chest as he fights the urge to sob. He ties his pet's arm down again, not caring to be gentle as the bone sticks out awkwardly, blood still steadily spilling onto the floor from the savage puncture.  
_ _He bites his lip in pain to the point he tears the skin and Latrell can't help but notice, his eyes growing wide as an urgent and unfamiliar craving possesses him. Cicero's eyes are clamped shut until the moment Latrell kisses him full on the mouth, desperate to taste his blood, to taste his despair. He whimpers into the kiss, uncomfortable in every possible way as his master sucks at the break in his lip. His breath is suffocating and his master's body is quaking now, his hands rising to roughly cradle his face as he leans over Cicero. More tears flow down his cheeks when Latrell finally pulls away. He'd never done anything like that._ Depraved _.  
_ _A small silence before Latrell apologizes for what hes about to do. Back on course._

 _Latrell steps back and rubs his hands together methodically, warming them up for his most impersonal but definitely one of the most unlikable of all his parlor tricks. White sparks begin to fly, the sound of static crackling through the stale air as electricity begins to revolve around Latrell's quivering fingertips. Cicero's eyes dart between the ceiling and his master's hands as he steps closer again, poising them for his attack. He can see the power surging through Latrell's entire body and behind his dark brown eyes as the blue lightening dances through every cell creating an unmatched sense of euphoria. The initiate's chest rises and falls faster again, violent breaths threatening to turn into more crying.  
_ _"Please- please don't-!" His words fall on deaf ears and the sparking tendrils fly from Latrell's hands and hit him square in the chest. Seemingly endless heart palpitations, shock waves sending his body into raging convulsions. His appendages spasm violently and his mind is engulfed by a harsh and thunderous laughter. Screams tear flesh from the inner walls of his throat for the second time this evening, his eyes rolling back into his skull until the chaotic drumming of power ceases and he is calmed by what can only be a healing spell. He cannot see and his ears are ringing at a painful pitch, causing him to feel dizzy despite laying still. He can sense a peculiar sensation as if his flesh has begun to melt from his bones and meld into the pigmentation of the stone bench. He can distantly feel hands roughly snapping his arm back into place but he makes no sound in protest. There would be no point. The feeling of blood rising in his mouth vanishes and he can see again for the moment.  
_ _"I hate doing this to you," Latrell purrs with a smile that suggests his words are profoundly untrue. Cicero's body begins to relax, muscle returning to regular form, bones rejoining at fractured junctures. He takes a breath, a moment to think, to feel something as human as physical normality. But the pain is back as instantly as it ceases and the wailing starts anew. And again. And again. Over and over and when he sees the light of death he is pulled ferociously back by gentle whispers and soothing spells until he's cast spinning into the void once more. Latrell is no longer recognizable; his hair cascades in a whirlwind around his face, the whites of his eyes seeming to pop forward as his barking cackle drives Cicero further and further down. He cannot see or hear even when his body is halfheartedly 'restored'. He is drenched in sweat and even the healing spells are beginning to not have a complete effect each time. Veins are exploding, blood is gushing into his stomach and up into his lungs until they collapse over and over. He's frothing at the mouth and choking, oxygen failing to have any effect on his brain as it begins to whiter further and further. Death's icy grip is beginning to shroud every inch of what remains of Cicero, the sweet release so close now.  
_ _It stops. Suddenly and without warning. A final healing spell, complete and total. Veins rejoining, blood draining, lungs filling with air instead of fluid.  
_ _He wonders if its over but deep down he knows this is only the beginning. He knows he won't be free till morning.  
_ _He breathes deeply in defeat before he hears the sickening crunch of his own breast plate shattering in his chest._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

After a fierce volley of fire at his feet and ice at mine, we stand still once more, rebuilding our drained magicka.  
"So, you're a Necromancer? Suits you." My words are laced with eager laughter as my hands twitch, still encased by flames. Cicero remains frozen behind me, still furious at Wilton's attack on me and honestly it's making me swoon. But now is not the time for flirtatious whims.  
"I know I nearly let it slip but how would you know if it _suits_ me?" Wilton- if that's even this kid's real name- seems almost disgusted by me at this point. I assume he sees me as something quite insignificant. His mistake!  
"Reviving deceased things seems like a good hobby to have when someone's charm is as dead as yours!" My eyes flick to Cicero who doesn't respond at all despite my witty line. I resist the urge to pout.  
Wilton shrieks and sends a torrent of ice shards at me and I dodge them with little effort. Such sloppy destruction magic. I force a sarcastic yawn as he sends a second wave by me, his attention on only me as Cicero watches my movements carefully. Ah. I grin broadly when the sudden need to impress my companion overwhelms me. It's my turn to dance- my turn to amuse and excite! This is my stage where as his was the Inn. It's _my_ time to shine!

I come to a halt as the last few flashes of white fragments fly by me. I stand unimpressed and ready to fight while Wilton catches his breath. With a scoff my hands twitch and the fires are extinguished. Cicero remains silent but I know he's confused by my action. But only for a moment!  
"Your skill is-... lacking." I say, taking a few steps closer as Wilton heaves in shuddering breaths. Such weak magic and he's already exhausted? "I'd expected more of a _shock_!" Tendrils of white lightening leave my finger tips and blast into Wilton's caving chest. He's sent backwards and his head hits the cobbled path with a loud ' **crack** '. Unconscious.  
"How underwhelming." I sulk walking back to Cicero who's expression turns softer, brighter. A smile tugs at his mouth and I almost want to put a hand to that faint scar on his lip. I wring my arm around his and lead him to stand by the lifeless form of our little Necromancer.  
"Careless Sachi knows how to pick dangerous prey," he titters with a sly smile. "But it seems this one isn't so well adjusted to your electricity! Hahahah!"  
"I do believe I ought to extend to you my gratitude, Keeper," I say, reminded that I could have been seriously injured- or _seriously impaled_ \- if not for his quick thinking. I suppose I had let my haze of excitement go a little too far. I knew Wilton was special for one reason or another but I didn't expect such speed. From _either_ of them, actually.  
"The Keeper agrees." He nods quickly and the tips of his cap swing wildly. _Ridiculous_. I grin and pull down my facecloth to childishly stick my tongue out at him.  
"Maybe later, if you help me move this pain-in-the-neck off the road." I move to release myself from the fool's grip when he stoops down and steals a chaste kiss from me. I guess this time it's my turn to stand frozen and confused- maybe even slightly flustered. _Slightly_.  
Okay, _very much so_.  
"Soon _you'll_ be the pain in _his_ neck!" He doubles over laughing and I silently curse him for daring to throw even more adrenaline onto what's already been built this evening- even if it's a vastly _different_ kind of thrill.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Fuck_ -" Wilton's eyes open slowly and I can tell he can't focus them just yet.  
"Wakey wakey, kiddo," I hum as I crouch beside him. Cicero titters from behind me and Wilton shakes his head to force his brain to work.  
The forest around us is silent and the wind is only getting stronger. A storm is rolling in.  
I slap Wilton across the face to bring him to his senses, probably harder than necessary. He scrambles in the dirt at the shock and I stop humming.  
"Oh _gods_ , why haven't you killed me already?" His speech is slurred but the anger is strongly pronounced. He sounds almost _annoyed_ we didn't kill him.  
Not yet at least.  
"Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the realm of the living." Each syllable, each breath is slow and deliberate. "Wilton, my dear, I hope you like _games_." He sits up and dusts himself off dramatically.  
"Games? Not really." Oh how dull for you, then, Wilton.  
"A shame. But before I tell you the rules of my little game, I'm going to ask you a question."  
"What?"  
"Why were you really at the Inn?" The Necromancer blinks at me before raising a filthy hand to rub absently at the scorch mark on his chest. A nasty mark indeed, even after the quick healing spell I so graciously afforded him. After-all, I don't want my game to be over _too_ soon.  
"My superiors told me if I brought them new bodies they'd promote me." Concise. Straight to the point. I appreciate his bluntness for now I'm starting to get antsy. I've already been waiting for _so long_.  
"Such a silly mage to pick on Sachi," Cicero's laugh cuts through the quiet air and it's not a sound I've heard him make before. There's bitterness in his cackle and when I turn to face him his expression is twisted into a sneer. He's usually so bright and cheerful- that is, if he's not looking exhausted and slightly worried. But right now he's quite-... _Sinister_.  
"But it was even more 'silly' to pick on my jester." I'm facing Wilton again who still remains unimpressed. I grab him roughly by the front of his robes and pull his face barely 5 inches away from my own. My face breaks into a wide smile and his eyes narrow on my fangs. His heart stops and starts again in record time but I hear it- I hear _everything_. I hear the gush of blood in contracting veins, the crinkle of stretching fibers in his filling lungs. I hear his bones creak when he tries to back away and I hear the beads of sweat beginning to swell over his skin. I can hear his fear as it physically manifests on and inside his person and I relish every sound, every smell, every second. I bring him closer until my mouth is at his ear, his hands wringing around mine as he tries to pull my fists away from his robes.  
"You have 30 seconds to run before I come searching for you. And believe me, my darling little Necromancer, you _do not_ want me to find you." I release my grip and he's on his feet, diving through a nearby thicket. I stand up straight and close my eyes as my senses sharpen, my mind crawling outward to see him gasping. Scrambling. Trees lash out at his skin and cut his robes to shreds but he doesn't stop. I can smell him on the rising wind and my body is almost convulsing with anticipation.

 **25..**

 **24..**

 **23..**

 **22.**

 **21...**

 **20..**

Cicero moves behind me and presses his heated body against my back. My body continues to shiver as the seconds drag agonizingly slowly in my mind. His gloved hands weave their way around my waist and hold me in place. I can feel myself about to explode, my eyes still squeezed shut.  
"Cicero will let you play, sweet Sachi. _Go play_." His mouth is at my ear again and I fight to keep from nudging against his face. His voice is a whisper and I can hear the control he's using. Something has him very upset. But still, he unwraps himself from behind me and the final few numbers drag by in my head.

 **5...**

 **4.**

 **3..**

 **2...**

 **1..**

I'm moving. One leg in front of the other, my boots eagerly ripping the ground up as I tear out of the small clearing. Wilton ran upwind and I can smell him as if he were right here in front of me. He's bleeding and I'm light headed from the scent of scrapes and cuts, sweat and dirt. My lungs are heaving in empty breaths, the first few specks of rain beginning to fall as I race blindly through the shrubs and pine trees. My ears are pricked and I can hear him nearby. He's moving clumsily, his cloak catching on every branch as he fights to press forward. I can hear his heartbeat pounding in rhythm with my own, our adrenaline building together in our wild chase. His blood gushes in his struggling veins. Capillaries fit to explode, his nose is bleeding from over exertion and I am done playing.  
I blend into the shadows and am delighted when I can _feel_ his muscles are beginning to give out. From fear, from movement, from living. Still he presses on, recklessly diving across increasingly uneven ground while the trees that rise up around us seem unfathomably ancient and gnarled.

One wrong step, his foot caught between two protruding roots and I hear his piercing shriek. Without breaking my stride I enter through a parting in the trees and find him on the ground screaming in agony. I come to a stop on the edge of the clearing and he makes no attempt to move. He can't see me in the cover of shadow, can't hear me through the rising wind and the needle pointed sting of icy raindrops. He still hasn't budged and I can't say I blame him, a compound fracture that bad is enough to make anyone hesitant to move. Even in the face of one's own death! He's bleeding out fast and I can see the sloppy trails running down his exposed leg, the white bone sticking out awkwardly from the middle of his shin.  
"My my, what a nasty tumble." My voice is a controlled purr as I step closer to him and he looks up at me with terror in his eyes. His hands are a bloodied mess and I know he's tried a healing spell. But even a healing spell can only do so much when the bone hasn't been snapped back into place and I doubt his little heart could take all that extra pain. I walk until I am right beside him, casually pulling at my gloves finger my finger until they're both off and my hands are free.  
" _Get away from me_! My superiors will find you!" Wilton is crying, from the pain or the fear I don't know. But I'm hoping both.  
"Oh, I'm terrified," I toss my gloves off to the side and crouch beside him, taking his chin into my bare hand. He's shaking but he doesn't pull away. His dishevelled blond hair is matted to his forehead, damp from the sweat and rain, his eyes wide and unfocused as the blood loss takes its toll.  
Somewhere on the wind I can smell Cicero, the strong scent of Nightshade seeming permanently integrated into his very DNA. But the smell of his adrenaline, his oils and perfumes cannot match the waves of salt and iron in this moment. The fragrance of life fills my brain and I bring his face close to mine. My hand snakes down to cup his throat and I gently, slowly squeeze my palm against his hammering pulse. He gasps, his eyes still open. The rain is heavy now, the intense drilling of droplets on the trees above us is almost deafening, the almost palpable aroma of wet fauna fogging my mind over. My fingers dive deeper and he raises his bloodied hands to cover mine. He barely tries to detach himself from my compressing claws, his eyes beginning to roll backward as I close my grip.  
Weak from blood loss, exhaustion and fear, Wilton finally has no fight left. My fingernails dig in and there's blood at his throat now, fresh and clean, and I know from it's slow trickle I need to move faster or there will be none left for me.  
"It's been a pleasure, Wilton." I grin at him one final time and he struggles to focus on me again as my fingers clamp shut. Through skin and around his windpipe I rip my hand away, letting the blood gush out and onto my armor. I shove my face to the opening and bury my teeth in even further back, crushing his spine as if it were made of rock salt.

Sensory overload. The earthy smell of rain, the bitter taste of iron and the continued feeling I'm being watched.  
But of course I am. My darling Keeper is in the wings observing, no doubt enjoying the show. Or perhaps he's just freezing to death in the rain. While the cold water does affect me, it cannot hope to outmatch the total absence of heat I always feel.  
 _Heat_. Heat floods past my lips, flesh grinds between my teeth and I'm choking on bouts of laughter. I can barely see for the rain filling my eyes but I can feel the rivers of blood mixing with water over my armor, over my skin, over the long dead sinew laying dormant inside my body.  
Wilton's head snaps backward and falls from his shoulders, the steady flow of life receding quickly now. There is a thick layer of blood casing my face, my hands, my body. I do not hear my fool when he comes to stand behind me, his hands on my shoulders as I crouch on the ground relishing the last few drops I lick clean from my fingers. I don't react to his touch immediately and instead I stare at the masterpiece I've created.  
Wide, red stains painted the earth like crawling angel wings, the dirt shifting as blood continues to spread across it despite the heavy downpour.  
Cicero pulls me up and I have trouble taking my eyes away from Wilton's remains. But when I do I see Cicero's eyes are wide but cheerful and I'm pulled back to my usual mind set. I'm brought back to myself and I only have eyes for his.  
He moves a gloved hand to my mouth and lifts my top lip with his thumb.  
"How many people have had the pleasure of meeting those lovely ivories, sister?"  
"Too many," I whisper, nearly inaudible over the continued chorus of rain.  
With a sly smile he leans in and speaks. "Oh I doubt that _very_ much."

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _Time drags slowly when you're hunting. Waiting. Watching. Travelling. And Sachi Reeds was no easy prey- whether in hiding or in plain sight. It had been 6 months since their escapade at the docks of Bravil. Many months and many meetings since then and a peculiar, unspoken truce had been struck between the young delinquents._

 _When Cicero stepped away from the Brotherhood for a few moments, just to breathe, he knew he wanted to be more than just an initiate. He needed to step up and finish the job but when he met her in the early weeks of 4E 183 he realized there was a reason why he had such a hard time performing his one and only mission. The reason he had endured months of punishment, months of ridicule and exclusion. Something about Sachi, the way she conducted herself, the way she used his weakness against him. The way she could remain hidden for months and then show up out of no where, asking to just talk. Something about the way he knows she could win this fight. Something about the way she didn't.  
_ _He knew he liked her.  
_ _A small clearance in the trees, her usual camp set up with a low burning fire. The girl sits calmly, shivering despite the fact she's shrouded under a pile of heavy cloaks.  
_ _"Alone as always," Cicero says, stepping from the shadows. Sachi turns slowly to look up at him. His weapon is sheathed this evening.  
_ _"As always," she agrees solemnly. They've done this so many times now. Met by the moonlight and talked by the fire. She likes this sad boy, but she silently, repeatedly curses him for not taking the chance she gave him. To walk away and live. Sure, any person could see him breathing now, talking and walking like anyone else but she knows he chose to die the second he returned to the Brotherhood the night she poisoned him. He chose to crawl back home, to obey rather than lead. Perhaps he really is just as shallow as that. A mere soldier._

 _"You know, I've always wondered why you ended up with that vampire," Cicero says as he sits down next to Sachi. They're both uneasy, this performance redone over and over but neither were willing to feel anything akin to comfort just yet, even when meeting on semi friendly terms.  
_ _Sachi thinks for a moment. Why should she tell him anything? Why shouldn't she?  
_ _"His clan raided some ruins I spent most my life being trapped in with my family and a group of others. I was only 4 at the time," she pauses to draw circles in the dirt, a habit her itching hands had always compelled her to do when speaking idly. "Everyone was killed except for me."  
_ _"Why you?" Cicero leans back and stretches out his legs, his arms holding him upright as he watches her fingers work the ground in slow, steady patterns. Her brow is furrowed and he can see the wave of conflicting emotions flicker across her face in the dancing, orange light.  
_ _"I've been asking myself that question for nearly 10 years," she sighs and puts her hands back under her cloaks, the cold finally getting to her.  
_ _They fall silent and Sachi begins to shake, pulling her cloaks in closer.  
_ _"How are you not freezing to death?" she asks suddenly as if accusing him of something.  
_ _"I'm just not weak like you elves," he laughs when she pouts and covers her face, still shivering. He stands and she jumps in response, her knife drawn. He reaches for his as well until they realize there's no danger. Just mistrust. "Jeez, I was just getting some fire wood for your shitty fire," Cicero mumbles harshly as they put their knives away. Sachi breathes a heavy sigh and rubs her face, her hands shaking for entirely new reasons._

 _"You know, things wouldn't be this way if you just took the chance I gave you," she says bitterly, watching the dying fire intensely as Cicero walks around the limits of the clearing.  
_ _"Chance?" He replies, bemused as he picks up another stick.  
_ _"Yes. The chance I gave you when I let you live, you dumbass," she grumbles, also deciding to stand. Drawing circles in the dirt won't ease her sudden unrest.  
_ _"What chance didn't I take?" Cicero thinks back to that night- and the events that followed, the humor in his voice dropping sharply as he recalls how bad things had gotten by morning. He stops looking for more wood, his arms almost full with them. He walks back to the fire and finds her standing, too. He dumps the sticks in the fire and waits impatiently for her reply.  
_ _"I let you live so you could choose."  
_ _He balls his fists, obviously outraged.  
_ _"_ Choose _? Choose_ what _?! What else is there for me here? There is nothing else," his words are harsh, blunt and defensive. He knows what she meant. All their conversations led here. A few playful words, a light conversation until one of them breaks the brief moments of pleasantry they occasionally shared.  
_ _"You could choose me," Sachi says quietly, looking up to meet his fierce gaze. His expression falls and he's left with his mouth agape, his mind blank.  
_ _He could choose her. He really could. They could leave Cryodiil and run. They could run forever. But they can't. He can't. You can't escape the nightmares, the instinct. You can't escape your orders._

 _Her eyes are wide, waiting for him to speak. She felt so exposed, so vulnerable with the whole world against her, a bounty on her head in every city. She was permanently on the run from the most determined clan of organised assassins across all of Tamriel, and she had no one else to talk to. She had no one else who understood what living her life was like. No one except Cicero. The sad boy who was responsible for every second she was alone, for every life she was forced to take just to survive. And he was also the source of the only happiness she'd ever truly known. Over the last few months, they had met like this several times for quiet conversations whispered in the trees by twilight. They decided that when he was not on business by direct order of the Brotherhood they could talk. It was a strange agreement, they knew, but what else are two lonely kids supposed to do when no one else will listen?  
_ _"You of all people know I want that. But you should also know that I can't," He finally speaks before stepping closer to her, his voice strained. She wants to step back, he can see it in her eyes.  
_ _"I know." Her words are now barely above ushered breaths as he steps closer again. Her expression has fallen and her arms lay limp at her sides. "But you should know something, Cicero."  
_ _He puts his hands on either side of her arms, his shaking body beginning to betray his forced attitude of nonchalance.  
_ _"What?" he whispers, the low flames finally catching to the new sticks, sending flashes of bright yellow across the kids as they stand face to face.  
_ _"You threw away my chance as well."_

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

I almost don't want to go inside but I couldn't force Cicero to stay out with me in this weather and without him I don't really want to be out here anyway.  
The door, a question, an answer. We're inside and the heat almost drains me of breath. It's late and the Sanctuary is asleep- well. Mostly. When walking past Astrid and Arnbjorn's room I can't help but notice rather ' _odd_ ' sounds coming from beyond the door. Something about the way Cicero grins at me suggests he hears it, too.  
"My, my they're up awfully late..." He prompts me and I refuse to speak. I'm not one for being bashful but damn, if I wasn't red right now. "I wonder what could be keeping them up at this unholy hour!" He presses and I feel the urge to laugh at him.  
"Hopefully she's bashing his big ugly head into an anvil," I snicker, imagining that scene is quite the pleasant alternative to what I know is actually happening. I have a real thing against two kinds of people. Arrogant Nords and werewolves. And Arnbjorn is both.  
"Ohhh, so spiteful, even towards a brother," his voice has dropped and I can hear the hidden inquiry in his tone. We're in the cavernous main room now and I go to sit by the pond as we did last night. I quickly take off my armor, leaving on only my underclothes. I reach into the water, almost desperate to wash out the last bits of blood from the nooks and folds in my armor. Lady Nocturnal surely wouldn't appreciate such blatant disrespect and Brotherhood member or not, I was still a Nightingale, and few things made me feel quite as proud.  
"I tolerate him as a brother. I loathe him as a pompous Nord and smelly werewolf." Cicero plonks down onto the ground beside me, his elbows on his knees and his gloved hands propping up his head. In my peripheral vision I can see he's watching my hands intently as I wash clean my beloved apparel with great care.

"Where ever did Sachi find such lovely armor?" His voice is back to it's usual tone, cheery and shrill and I can't help but grin as I work in the water.  
"Ever heard the tale of the Nightingales?"  
"The servants to Lady Nocturnal? Patron of the Thieve's Guild? Cicero never understood thieves, really... Take someone's things _before_ you kill them?"  
"Yes. But the Nightingales are so much more than thieves," I offer him a smile and he rolls his eyes playfully.  
"And they call _me_ crazy."  
"You're not crazy. But if stealing before stabbing means craziness, I guess that makes me crazy, as this is my Nightingale armor." I pull it up out of the water and it seems to glisten against the familiar light of the stained glass above. The oranges dance across the worn black leather and I'm almost transfixed on how lovely my armor looks. Of all my possessions, of all my wealth and exemplary reputation across all 9 Holds in Skyrim, this was what I held most dear.  
"Does that mean Sachi has loyalties outside of the Brotherhood? Outside the Night Mother?"  
"You could say that." I replied simply. I don't think he liked that answer but he didn't press me on it. I don't understand the 'old ways' or the 'traditions' of how things used to be run, and as far as I'm concerned, whatever is in that iron coffin is long dead and who even knows if she could ever even talk at all? During my couple months here I've read up extensively on the Dark Brotherhood but found very little of it compelling. Honestly, my only loyalties besides Nocturnal are to how much fun I can have and how much gold it earns me and as such, thievery and assassinating suits me quite well!

 **~O~**

Morning hits me with a dull headache and my limbs are throbbing. I must have overworked myself last night!  
If I were to be honest with myself I'd admit that not finding Cicero leering at me when I open my eyes was a bit of a let down. I get up and walk downstairs to the dining hall, finally deciding to let Nazir in on the details of my successful contracts. I've hardly acknowledged him at all since my return home.  
"Initiate." He greets me with his usual drawl. A wonderful start to my morning. I walk to the table and pour myself a tankard of mead. "A bit early to be drinking, isn't it?" He doesn't look up from his ever important papers.  
"It's the only thing I can drink that doesn't make me throw up."  
"Besides blood, of course." He grins behind his words and I rein in a loud sigh.  
"Of course." I sit down on the bench and recline, deciding where to start.  
"How did you find those contracts?" He still doesn't look up from his paper stack, his eyes slowly gliding from side to side as he reads his lists. I wonder what's even on those... Surely they aren't all contracts?  
"Dawnstar, Anga's Mill and Ivarstead. Done, done and done." I say quickly with a smug grin as I tick each contract off on my hand. "Easy peasy."  
"No hiccups?"  
"Well. The idiot at the Mill killed himself by slipping on the rocks. One look at me and he was running for his life! Then at Ivarstead- well." I pause and take a drink, Nazir finally gracing me with his eye contact.  
" _Well_?"  
"The old man went running towards the town before I could grab him. I had a lovely little fight with the guards. Don't think I'll be welcome back in Ivarstead for a while." I lean forward and laugh, the pleasant heat from the mead settling in my stomach and chasing away the ache in my body. Unexpectedly, Nazir joins in my laughter, even if it's just a mild chuckle.  
"Well, you've done better than I expected. Here's your payment." Nazir tugs a coin purse off his belt and throws it at me across the table. I grab it midair and estimate there's around 1500 septims. Wonderful! Murder pays well- maybe even better than thievery!  
"A pleasure doing wicked business with you, brother," I purr as I stand up, my tankard empty.  
"Astrid expects your first contract in Markarth to go well, sister. As now do I." He's back into his papers now but I can see the slight smirk on his face. "Kill well and often."

Back upstairs I wander down to the chapel, eager to see if our matron's coffin has been opened. But instead when I slip into the room between the heavy obsidian doors I find it's still chained shut, the lock almost embarrassingly weak even from my really quick assessment. I wonder why he'd have such a weak lock on it? I wonder why he locks it at all. As any other day the room is filled with an almost palpable haze and I relish the strong smells of toxic fauna. Between the mead and the candle smoke and the poisonous air I feel my head beginning to swim in a manner most pleasant.  
The candle wax drips so slowly, almost as if time holds a new meaning in this room. A new passage of space and time. The flowers are replaced everyday, tied with faded pieces of red string in perfect, delicate little bows.  
"He sure does love his work..."  
"Oh yes! He certainly does!" I almost jump at the sudden sound; shrill, familiar and definitely welcome.  
"Morning," I grin at him as I sit down on the bench. Without the invitation he takes his spot next to me and I lean in against his arm.  
"Coming to inspect humble Cicero's craft again, are we?"  
"Why else? Hah! But, I _am_ wondering- why is she still chained up? Is she gonna climb out and eat us?" I entertain the thought for a moment, the idea somewhat hilarious to me. I've fought many skeletons and Draugr but I don't know how I'd stack up against Sithis's bride.  
"If we could be so lucky." There's something genuine and... _bitter_ about how he words his reply. I really need to find out why he's so tetchy about this crusty old corpse! Buuut~ Not today.  
"Soooo~? When will you be opening the tomb?"  
"Why would Cicero open our Lady's coffin?" He blinks at me, bemused.  
"I... I just assumed that's what you'd do." I shrug. I honestly have no idea why I assumed that- I mean, it _is_ a corpse, after-all. "I have to go to Markarth." I offer, in hopes of steering him away from whatever thoughts are beginning to dampen his usually cheery disposition.  
"Does Sachi have a contract in the Reach?"  
"I do indeed! Some woman want's her ex killed. The usual fanfare." I roll my eyes and smile, my mind still focused on how pleasant the scents in this room are. I hope over time they'll fill the whole Sanctuary!  
"Cicero would like to come with you, sister." He leans against my arm. "But Mother needs loyal Cicero here." I hadn't even offered or thought to invite him and yet his decline almost hurt. My throat feels tight and for a moment I find it hard to breathe.  
"You sure? I mean, I'd appreciate the company! And it's not that far away-" I stop myself, slightly embarrassed. Why am I so set on having him come with me all of a sudden? The mead in my stomach suddenly feels like acid and I'm trying not to squirm under his unwavering stare. He laughs boisterously at my urgent invitation and I fight the urge to hit him over the head. "What? I thought you might like to get away from here for a few days, jeez."  
"But why would Cicero want to leave when the Night Mother is here?" His laughter stops, but only just. Why _would_ he want to leave? My mind flashes back to the way Astrid spoke to him, and how Nazir was extremely reluctant to even help him... Aaaand I never see him mingling with our other brothers and sisters...  
"I thought maybe you'd like a break... I saw how the others reacted to you when you arrived, you know. Not a very hospitable bunch... Have they been treating you any better since then?"  
"They've treated Cicero as well as he expected!" He trills happily as he sways next to me on the bench.  
"That doesn't answer my question."  
"Sachi doesn't answer questions either."  
"Is that right? Okay, ask me something, then."  
"Why is sneaky Sachi so concerned for poor Cicero?" He's giggling but I can't see past his sunken eyes. The heavy circles betray his ill-fitting persona and right now, I find it _laughable_.  
"Oh, you caught me. Beneath my thick layer of blood lust and homicidal rage I'm actually just a person who cares about her outcast brother." I facetiously bat my eyelids and clasp my hands beneath my chin, knowing damn well it's actually the truth. I don't know why but this jester is pretty far under my skin and he's starting to _itch_.  
When he laughs outrageously loudly at me I stand up and straighten my night shirt defiantly.  
"Well. I ought to be packing for Markarth tomorrow, then. _Brother_ ," I give a sarcastic bow and back out of the room through the doors, leaving him still in stitches.


	7. Chapter 7

Left, right, left, right, left, right. Bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored_. Bored of thinking and chasing myself in circles. Bored of watching my own two feet clomp across the terrain with increasing indiscretion. Am I not supposed to be a sneaky, smart, sly assassin? I definitely am not one today. Loud footfalls, no shadows, no concentration.  
Markarth to Windhelm, Windhelm to Markarth. An exhausting 2 weeks and I am very pleased to be heading home. But then again- am I really pleased? I follow the main road towards Falkreath, my proud Nightingale armor clinging to my body in uncomfortable places. I'm covered in rashes and scrapes, I have chaffed thighs and a busted lip and I can't be bothered fixing any of it.  
I didn't say goodbye to my little fool and the acid burning in my stomach tells me I feel guilt... No, no. Thieves, assassins, Dovahs. We feel no guilt. But if we feel no guilt, why do I shake if I close my eyes and see his face? Why do I want to run home to my Cistern and pick a fist fight with Vex just to feel something definable?  
My left foot collides with the heel of my right and I repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.  
My lip is swollen and I prod at it with a gloved finger. It's much smaller now but I can't help but pity those without the skill to perform a healing spell. If this is how long the average wound takes to repair itself I wouldn't leave my house for fear of injury. But honestly, even through the annoying sting of my thighs and throbbing pulse in my lip, I'm enjoying the punishment.  
I left without saying anything and I had so many things to say. But what things? _For why_? For a tired jester who can't even take himself- or me- seriously? I left him alone with strangers who would claim to be his family simply out of obligation. I left him alone with a horde of people that collectively have a profound dislike for him and his commitment to the Old Ways.  
He doesn't take their dislike seriously. He doesn't take me seriously. He doesn't take _anything_ seriously but that damned Night Mother.  
I stop walking and consider my thoughts a moment. Why _should_ he take me seriously? He doesn't know me and I definitely don't know a thing about him. We have absolutely nothing to build a foundation of trust on. So far I've tried to kill him, and he knows I killed two innocent farmers _and then_ he watched me tease, hunt and execute a young man. Why would he take any of that seriously? Why should he trust any of that? Why does it _hurt_ to think he doesn't trust me?  
I laugh suddenly, pushing through the ache in my chest and begin my tightrope act again.  
"Calm down, oh Sachi, gods damn it..." Inaudible mumblings but still words of assurance. Who cares? I don't. I don't care that he doesn't trust me- I definitely don't trust him. He knows too much without being told and he always seems one metaphorical step ahead of me. Or maybe even literally as well.  
But who cares? I don't.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _"Is that the best you've got?" he hisses, the clank of metal ringing viciously through the brisk night air. A side step, a back slash, a stab, a cut, a gasp. Blood litters the ground in heavy droplets as they dance.  
_ _"No," she spits, lifting her left hand as a smirk spreads across her face. He knows what that means. Play time is over and things are becoming heated. Scratches and cuts are childsplay no matter how many. Daggers won't do much in an open battle. Knives are for cutting, for severing, for quick and clean precision. Her hand begins to quake and the familiar sparks of white lightening revolve around her curling fingers. They come to a stand still; his weakness, his flaw. His eyes grow wide and the blood begins to seep more quickly from his open gashes. His hands clench and Sachi knows that look. She's been there before. She has those vices._

 _"Walk away now, Cicero," Sachi's voice is calm, even. Her heart is pounding and her ears are hammering; there is no joy in her smile but it's an effective mask to hide her bitterness. She watches him closely, poised for action as the lightening grows stronger. He's paralyzed and can't move, can't speak. His leather gloves whine in protest as he grips more tightly to the dagger- struck by fear.  
This is no fun. This will not be the show they know the Brotherhood is expecting. She ceases the lightening spell and replaces it with flame. She can almost instantly see the recovery in Cicero, his eyes now focusing on her again. She knows she plays too kindly with him. She knows she could end this at any moment. She knows she's better than him. She knows that doesn't matter.  
_ _Nothing matters but this boy. This stupid boy and his safety.  
He lunges forward with a wild stab and she notes his poor technique. He may be capable with stealth but his open battle skills are reckless and predictable. If Sachi were any other opponent he wouldn't be breathing.  
_ _She ducks and dives, barely attempting to land any hits- the ones she already made beginning to cause him some obvious distress. He's lost a fair bit of blood, the colour steadily draining from his face.  
_ _'They're watching', she thinks, her eyes flicking from him to the shadows where she can feel the hostile glare of another Brotherhood member, no doubt here assessing Cicero's behaviour. He follows the direction of her darting glances and he knows just as well as she does. This battle is not going to reflect well on him at all. But between the blood loss and anxiety, he appears to be spent.  
_ _He falls to his knees, submissive and no doubt expecting a knife to his throat. Sachi does not disappoint.  
_ _She extinguishes her flame spell and her gloved hand takes a fistful of his hair, pulling it roughly and forcing his head backwards. He looks up at her, his expression showing distinctive signs of ambivalence. Defiant, but begging. Her anger swells at his pathetic display and the metal blade presses harshly against his throat.  
_ _"Just do it," he says, breathing heavily as he drops his own knife and raises his hands to his largest wound across his ribs. "Just fucking kill me, Sachi." This time she can hear the begging. A twinge in her heart, his breathing growing more difficult. There is nothing she can do to help him here, not while being watched. She knows how this game is played, and she knows that she cannot win. No matter what she does this kid will end up suffering because of her. She looks at him, her despair continuing to take form in anger. Her fist grows tighter and she shakes him, the other hand pressing so hard it draws a slight amount of blood. He inhales sharply but does not object. He really means it this time. She almost wants to. To just flick her wrist back and watch him die. Every problem she's ever had would evaporate. But there's no way she could do it. No way she could live knowing she would be entirely alone. And deep down she knows that after Cicero is gone another assassin would be dispatched after her. And then another, and another. And she knows eventually, she wouldn't even want to fight back at all._

 _There's a rustling in the trees and their moment has expired. She withdraws her knife and puts a boot to his chest and pushes harshly, sending him crashing into the dirt. He lays there, looking at her with accusing eyes. She knows why. She knows exactly why he is silently cursing her.  
_ _"I hate you," he says, blood still oozing through his straining fingers.  
_ _"I'm so sorry," she whispers, her agony finally replacing her rage. She wishes more than anything to give him peace, but death is something she cannot bear to afford him. Perhaps she's being selfish.  
_ _She backs away slowly, praying for him to stand, to run, to join her at long last. But he lays there, defeated and filthy and she curses every second she knows shes about to spend alone again. Alone because of him._

 _Leaves and branches whip her face, grass stains smearing, seeping into cloth as she sprints without pause through the trees. A familiar, hot feeling is beginning to irritate her eyes and there's no hope of ignoring it. She left him back there, disgraced and defeated by a girl 5 years his junior. He's going to be punished without mercy and she knows it's all her fault. Everything he's been through is all her fault. Each and every single scar, memory, bruise and blister is her doing. Sachi can feel the guilt tearing her apart from the inside out and she suddenly can't breathe, can't see. Her lungs are collapsing and the world is black. She falls and begins to shake, her body refusing to move, feel, obey. Her hands are reaching, grabbing for things that aren't there, her chest is caving and her bones are screaming. The feeling of acid fills every part of her, burning white hot, melting as she lay gasping and screaming silently. Screaming until it is no longer silent but deafening. Her head is exploding and her hands are clutching at her own ribs, scratching, clawing, digging.  
Her face turns into the ground, her lungs heaving in dry breaths of dirt and empty air. She's choking and still howling, the pressure beyond compare as her nose begins to bleed.  
She cannot cry, the tears won't come and all she can do is wait. Wait for every muscle and joint to wear itself out. All she can do is wait for the release._

 ** _~O~_**

 _"You've really fucked up this time, Initiate." A harsh voice, a harsh kick in the ribs and Cicero curls into himself, heaving. The world is spinning but the hammering of his heart begins to subside. He can see the cloaked face of his supervisor as he grabs him roughly by the collar in disgust. Cicero is dragged from the clearing, in the opposite direction Sachi had just run._

Sachi.

 _Bitterness is the single thing his fading consciousness retains, but not for her. As much as he needed her to die, for her to know his suffering, he needed her more. He could never blame her truly for what happens to him when his brothers and sisters retired for the day. For what will happen to him tonight. And every night he fails. The feeling of astringency intensifies at the realization of his own weakness. He could end everything so easily, in so many different ways but there is a hunger so strong for Sachi that goes beyond the need to ruin her.  
_ _Cicero can feel the dull, pleasant sensation of a healing spell and as it grows stronger, as do his feelings of dejection. He really could just run with her. He could just leave everything behind.  
_ _Another kick in the ribs when the healing spell is over and Cicero has not yet moved.  
_ _"Get up!" And another. "Latrell is expecting good news. Not that I understand why with a louse of an assassin like you fucking up every mission he sends you on," he snickers and turns to leave the clearing. Cicero still does not move but rather lets the thousands of thoughts run through his mind, over and over and over. He could. But he mustn't. Why not?  
_

 _Latrell._

 _The fire builds and then is doused in water at the thought of his name. He cannot escape that name. He cannot let go of the humiliation and the torture. The endless hours of abhorrent beatings, the agony. Sachi's death is the only thing that could ever bring him peace. Nothing will pain him more than seeing her dead. Nothing else but seeing her live.  
_ _The screaming starts and he can hear her. The supervising assassin is no longer present but he knows she will be safe from him. No one but himself is allowed to harm her. That is his curse alone.  
_ _He stands up, looking in the direction of the sound. It is pained. Wild.  
The world vanishes and all he can hear is her. Without being aware of it his legs have begun to move and he's running. Sprinting with everything he has to reach her- to know she's okay._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

"Done." I mutter as I walk past Astrid in the war room, my heart set fiercely on enjoying an immediate and blissful respite. The last thing I need is to listen to one of her long winded speeches.  
"Back so soon? You look awful," her voice is as sultry as ever and I can't help but laugh out loud. I _do_ look awful. "Sister- do you have a moment?" Her sarcasm has dropped and I know she's about to ask me for something. I stop walking and turn on my heel, arms behind my back as I feign interest.  
"Yes, Astrid?" She gestures for me to come closer and I obey, already beginning to feel a very distinct sense of _dread_. This can't be good.  
"It's Cicero. Ever since he arrived, his behavior's been... Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad. But it's worse than that. He's taken to locking himself in the Night Mother's chamber, and talking- _to someone_. In hushed, but frantic tones. Who is he speaking with? What are they planning? I fear treachery." I bite my tongue to keep from groaning loudly. Again with this superstition.  
"You know, I think if you would just talk to him instead of making assumptions you-"  
"There is no talking to the insane! The man won't see sense!" I huff at the indignity of being cut off, but still refuse to unleash my true feelings about the situation.  
"You're being paranoid, Astrid."  
"I disagree, sister." There's an almost earnest honesty to her words but I can't help but feel slight disgust at her insecurity. One man against her family would stand no chance. Be it through loyalty or physical combat, no one would dare consider crossing her. "As the Night Mother's Keeper, he believes he's entitled to the rule of this Sanctuary. Cicero will cite our independence as the need to revert to the Old Ways. He'll claim we're undisciplined, unruly. _Heretical_ , even... Ironically, the Night Mother could prove to be just as much a victim. The queen in a fool's twisted game of chess." The look on my face reads clear indifference, perhaps even boredom. I have no interest in discrediting a fellow member simply because he's... quirky. And even so, how could the Night Mother possibly be a victim- she's dead! Deceased. No more. Fables and fairy tales and a load of old rubbish.

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" my question is rhetorical but of course Astrid ignorantly shoots past my sarcasm. Her voice becomes sickly sweet and I know she's going to ask something entirely abhorrent of me.  
"Dear sister, I need you to steal into that chamber, and eavesdrop on their meeting. It'll be no use clinging to the shadows. They'll see you for sure. No, you need a hiding place. Somewhere they'd never think to look..." She pauses a moment, beginning to pace as a hand runs anxiously through her hair. "... Like inside the Night Mother's coffin." _Oh you have got to be kidding me_.  
"But- He keeps it locked?"  
"Pick it."  
"Who said I know how to pick locks?" Astrid scoffs, and rightly so. She knows I'm Master of the Thieves Guild. "Okay, okay, _fine,_ you got me, I can pick a lock. But, can you tell me anything else? I mean... he could just be talking to himself? Who would even _want_ to revolt against you?" Other than myself at this point, of course.  
"That's the real question, isn't it? The jester enters, seals the door, and the conversation begins. So someone must be waiting for him inside. Any one of us could enter that chamber silently. Unnoticed. But who among us would dare conspire against the Sanctuary? The very thought breaks my heart." Breaks your illusion of control, more like it. Is she really this paranoid? Is her hold on this Sanctuary really so fragile she must resort to such extremes? What a joke.  
"I'm sure it does. So. Okay. Let me get all this straight. You want _me_ \- that fool's only friend here- to sneak into the chapel, break into and then hide _inside_ the Night Mother's coffin to eavesdrop on him while he talks to possibly no one...?" I tick each point off on my hand with a look seomwhere between disgust and apathy worn blatantly across my face. I am exhausted and now I am damn near insulted that she would choose me to do this. Why not her loathsome husband? Is her paranoia really running so deep she can't trust her own pet dog? She's choosing me over him simply because I've been gone since Cicero's new behavior started?  
"That's about the size of it, yes." Again she ignores my disdain.  
"Fine. I'll let you know if anything- or anyone- comes up." It'll probably be me who 'comes up', dead after that jester finds me skulking around inside his precious corpse's tomb. This cannot possibly end well.

 **~O~**

I am furious. I should be concerned or perhaps even nervous but right now I'm honestly so angry. I don't believe a word of Astrid's moaning. I mightn't believe in Cicero either but I know he's not after a power struggle. I do think the Old Ways matter to him though, but again, only because he cares about the Night Mother. He doesn't really seem to care for much else, does he?  
I'm in no mood to sleep now and I continue to let the pulsating ache in my busted lip persist. It's late once again and the Sanctuary is silent, save for the steady sounds of moving, falling, crashing water echoing around the cavernous main room.  
"This is a mess." I groan into my bare hands, my knees curled up below my chin while I sit next to the pond.  
"Then clean it up!" I don't even blink at the sudden noise, determined to ignore him as he stands on his fucking hands just behind and to the left of me.  
"I can't."  
"Why not?" He topples over before crawling to sit next to me with his trademark shit-eating grin spread haplessly across his face.  
"It's too much to clean." He leans forward with his legs outstretched, his gloved hands gripping the tips of his ridiculous boots.  
"Nonsense!"  
"You're nonsense." He laughs but it doesn't seem to help with easing my conflicted emotions. Astoundingly, I am genuinely fond of my little fool and that alone is nonsense in more ways than one. Yet, on top of that I am being asked to betray his trust- well, that is if he even has any in me at all to betray... I have to break into the coffin of whom he holds most dear and eavesdrop on him based on the whim of a woman I don't even like all that much. What a mess indeed.

"Does Sachi want to talk about it? I think she should, oh yes she should." He nods with a suddenly serious expression and I can't help but think it doesn't suit him at all.  
"I want to leave." I say, barren of emotion. I would give anything to have my usual zeal back.  
"But for why? Sachi's home is right here with Mother!"  
"She's not my Mother! She's a dusty old Dunmer who hasn't talked to anyone in nearly a decade!" As soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret them, but my mind refuses to quell its rage. I stand up, suddenly restless and he follows, hands behind his back as his stupid smile falters just slightly.  
"Sachi shouldn't say such foolish things." I've heard him angry, I've heard him furious, and I expected to hear him livid. I did not expect to hear _disappointment_.  
"And you'd know all about being _foolish_ , wouldn't you?"  
"Ohhhh touche', _touche'_! The Fool of Hearts could certainly teach sweet Sachi a thing or two about being foolish!" There's something underhanded about the way he says 'sweet'. I squint my eyes slightly, watching the minute twinges in his face as his emotions run through a myriad of changes. "But that reckless behavior suggests you could teach me as well." The humor drops from his voice while his smile remains, somehow empty.  
"Is that a threat, Keeper?" He out ranks me but I don't care. I don't care. I don't care in the slightest. I don't care about this pathetic excuse of a Brotherhood. I don't care about these direction-less thugs and I don't care about this impudent jester's games, jokes or pranks.  
"That depends on you, sister." I wish he'd stop calling me that. He turns to leave and I let him. I have nothing more to say to that _fool_.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _"You know, you should stop running away like that. They're going to realize you're doing it for a reason." Cicero scowls at her when she finally falls silent. His ears are ringing from her screams, from running so fast and Sachi is filthy, scraped and bloodied. Her cheeks are flushed a violent shade of red as she sits up, revealing her face for the first time since he doubled back to find her wailing in the dirt.  
_ _She responds slowly, her arms wrapped around her legs, shaking and weak.  
_ _"Why? So I can get your worthless hide into even more trouble?" She's breathless and he offers her his hand.  
_ _"I can handle my own business thank you very much," he quips, grinning. She notices how humourless he is even through his practiced facade. He notices how exhausted she is when she finally takes his hand and gets up. "What happened here?"  
_ _"I don't want to talk about it." Blunt. Emotionless, but entirely giving herself away. Cicero's false smile falters as she takes her hand from his to brush herself off.  
_ _"Why not? What happened, Sachi?" His voice is stern, slightly concerned; he's never seen the wind knocked out of her like this.  
_ _"Drop it, Cicero," her tone is a warning but he ignores it. Something tells him this is extremely important.  
_ _"You cut me up, leave me to bleed out and then have a screaming fit in the woods. Then, when I come to collect your defective pieces, you shut me out? You owe me an explanation," his words are heated and he grabs her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him directly.  
_ _"I didn't leave you to bleed out! I had no choice! No matter what I do it's always my fault you get hurt and there's never anything I can do for you but watch and-" she stops.  
_ _"... And?" he asks, quietly. Calmly. He needs to know.  
_ _"And... And I'd give anything to change that. To make it all go away for you." Before she knows whats happening his arms are around her, pulling her in close. Her instincts tell her to push him away, to yell profanities but instead she reaches around and clutches onto his clothes, burying her face in his chest, still shaking.  
_ _"Why were you screaming." His question is more an order than an inquiry.  
_ _"I don't want to lose you." Finally after seemingly endless minutes of screaming into the ground she manages to cry. Sachi's body begins to quake in heaving sobs as she claws to get closer to him. The words hit Cicero like an arrow in the chest when he finally hears that she feels the same way. All their fighting, their arguments. Every aspect was so important yet neither of them wanted anything more than to be like this forever. Simply together, hoping to the gods that everything will always turn out okay. But this is not their reality. Their reality is cold and cruel and they know they cannot stay here._

 _They fall together to their knees in the dirt, Sachi beginning to hyperventilate again.  
_ _"There's nothing we can do," he ushers, resting his forehead against hers. She stops crying long enough to scream at him.  
_ _"There's everything you can do, you absolute_ fuckwit _!_ This is all. Your. Fault _!" she hits him in the chest with what little energy remains and he accepts it with no objection.  
_ _"Don't you think I already know that?!" Hot, angry tears begin to well in his own eyes and he's suddenly disgusted with himself.  
_ _Only he can end this, one way or another and both are entirely unappealing for radically different reasons, but nothing will change the ultimate fact that there was no escaping Latrell's shadow. Not now, not ever. But there was also the undeniable truth that he'd completely and totally fallen for the sad Bosmer girl he's spent his entire Brotherhood career pursuing. Fallen for the way she smiles nervously, the way he's always known she's cared for him no matter how real his blood lust became. Fallen for the one person who could ever truly return his feelings of ambivalence._

 _He'd fallen for Sachi._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

It's quiet and my stomach feels like it's an ocean of acid, melting through muscle and burning against my skin. It hurts in a peculiar way but now is not the time to consider my regrets. Now is not the time to think.  
It's late, it's dark, it's quiet. I sneak silently into the chapel and seal the door behind me. The haze greets me as strongly as ever and I welcome the dulling effect it has on my uneasy mind. I find the lock on the Night Mother's tomb to be as pathetic as I'd originally suspected weeks ago. Something tells me he really _does_ want someone to break into it. I wouldn't put it past that idiot to try and stir some trouble, even if only with Astrid. He's not after power, but he's definitely after change.  
I open the coffin doors and my breath is stolen by the sight of our unholy matron. I expected a skeleton. A mess. A pile of dust. I didn't expect expertly preserved remains. I didn't expect skin, teeth and hair. I'm immobilised for only a moment before I clamber inside the tomb, careful not to harm her.  
In the deafening silence I can almost hear _breathing-_ almost feel the breath on the back of my neck as I press up against the Night Mother. I shake away my thoughts and focus, trying to fight against the haze I usually accepted so easily. Perhaps this smoke, this smell, this ambience is poisonous in ways no one could have noticed. It would explain a lot about Cicero's behavior... I stifle a sarcastic laugh when I hear the tumblers of the chapel doors snap into place.  
"Are we alone? Yes... yes... alone. Sweet solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us! Everything is going according to plan. The others-... I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex... perhaps even the Argonian, and the _un-child_... What about you? Have you... have you spoken to anyone?" He pauses and I suddenly notice I haven't been breathing. I suck in a quiet breath but find it isn't much better than not breathing at all. It's _suffocating_ in here with all these oils.  
"No... No, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and saying! And what do you do? _Hmmm_? _Nothing_! Not-... not that I'm angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Hehhh... Cicero always understands... And obeys! You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you?... _sweet Night Mother_." I shudder. I've killed people, I've bunked with vampire clans and I've frolicked with actual demon gods but nothing felt so thoroughly _creepy_ as Cicero in this moment.  
And then I shudder again when the pleasant, clawing tendrils of warmth slighter across my skin in powerful waves. My mind screeches to a halt, all thoughts ceasing as a voice so harsh yet so entirely gentle begins to whisper to me.  
 _"Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener."_ My breath hitches and suddenly I'm holding it again. The sensation of breathing on my neck is no illusion brought on by the haze. Through confusion and fear, the intruding voice inside my head continues to echo after it stops speaking. But despite the hissing voice still enveloping my brain I manage to hear Cicero continue his woes.  
"Oh, but how can I defend you? How can I exert your will? If you will not speak? _To anyone_!" I've never heard his voice climb so high and it grates against my bones, yet I can still feel the possessive, ethereal claws moving deftly across my body. My adrenaline is rising despite the tug of serenity brought on by those creeping tendrils.  
 _"Oh, but I_ will _speak. I will speak to you. For you are the one. Yes,_ you _. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre."_ Pure terror engulfs me as realization hits me hard in the chest. _Me_? ' _My_ tomb'? Then... No! _No_ \- not me, don't let it be me- I barely handled being Dragonborn, don't make me be another ' _chosen one_ ', oh _gods_ -  
"Poor Cicero has failed you. Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother. I've tried, so very hard. But I just _can't_ find the Listener."  
" _Tell Cicero the time has come. Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: 'Darkness rises when silence dies_.'" The slithering fingers are suddenly gone and I gasp as the slight feelings of calm disappear with them, leaving me with only my terror.

Seeming as if only to spite me, the tomb doors fly wide and Cicero is glaring at me. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_. I'm going to throw up, I'm going to scream, I'm going to fall over-  
"What? What treachery! Defiler! _Debaser and defiler_! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's tomb! _Explain yourself_!" Well, now I've finally heard him livid. I can say with complete honesty, I don't like it.  
I try to speak but he doesn't give me time. He takes a handful of the front of my shirt and swings me around and away from the coffin. He slams me hard into the clay wall and I know a large bruise will begin to fester where his fist hit my breast plate. That's if I live long enough, anyway. That exquisite ebony dagger is brought sharply against my throat and I utter a frantic giggle- from panic or excitement I cannot tell. I've longed to see that blade drawn and poised again for many weeks. I just didn't think it'd be under these circumstances.  
My reflexes urge my hands to reach for my own blade but I had foolishly decided to remain unarmed.  
"Speak speak _speak speak speak_!" He's screaming in my face and his body presses against me so forcefully I can't find the space to draw in even a shallow breath.  
"Fool-!" I choke on his pet name through another bout of nervous laughter which only makes him angrier. The knife digs in further and I can feel the warmth of my own blood beginning to trickle down my skin. "Get -off me- I'm the damned Listener, you _idiot_ -!" My hands awkwardly lift to try and force his face away but his dagger only juts in harder. I scream out in surprise, the blood flow becoming a steady one.  
My eyes begin to roll back as consciousness fades and still I claw at his face in protest. "She told m-me- ah! To talk to you-" Suddenly the knife withdraws and he reels back away from me as if I had (effectively) shocked him.  
"She... spoke to you? More treachery! More trickery and deceit! _You lie_!" He throws his dagger across the room and then stares down at his own shaking hands. I heave in shuddering breaths and strain my ears to hear his cries. "The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener!" He looks up at me and moves forward to take me by the front of my shirt again, this time tripping me up easily and forcing me to the floor. I lay on my back, helpless as he straddles me before wrapping his hands around my throat. His golden eyes are slits as they stare down at me and I can't help but admire the colour, even in this moment. "And _there is._.. _no... **Listener**_!" With each syllable he pulls me up and away from the ground before forcing me back down again. The back of my head splits against the stone floor and the screaming pain that ensues clouds my vision. I choke on my tongue and gasp for air, dizzy and confused. He begins to ease his whole weight down onto my windpipe and finally, I utter the words.  
"Darkness rises, wh-when silence dies-"

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 **A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that's read this far and followed/faved/reviewed oh gosh thanks so much. I understand that Skyrims a bit old now and Cicero's not very well liked, _generally speaking_ , so i really appreciate the bit of attention this story is getting! I love reviews so much thank you thank you!**

 **I'd also like to point out that I am aware of my mistake regarding Cicero's current location in the flashbacks. I know it's meant to be Bruma but for some reason I decided to repeatedly mistake it with Bravil woops. One day i'll get around to fixing it!  
From here on out I'll start using Bruma instead! I hope it's not too confusing to follow ohno**


	8. Chapter 8

"She... she said that? She said _those_ words... to you? 'Darkness rises when silence dies'?" He's sitting upright, still atop me and I suck in breaths of air while he talks to himself. My throat is raw from haggard breathing and silent screaming and I muster all my strength to forcefully flip him off me. He tumbles off to the side but his expression doesn't change from one of utter bewilderment. I stand shakily, still coughing as I rub my neck before I fall down to my knees. A concussion? Wonderful. I am suddenly aware of the blood trailing down from the split at the back of my skull and I curse loudly. I could have Shouted. I could have burnt him. I could have _defended_ myself- but. I did no such thing. Why-?  
"But those are the words. The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes... The signal so I would know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero..." The fool's voice trails off and I get busy with my healing spell. My hands move smoothly until the familiar glow engulfs them and I press my palms to the back of my head. The thrumming pulse and dizziness recede enough to allow me to stand, as does then Cicero. My stomach lurches as his voice calls out and I feel only a profound sense of void.  
"Then... it is true! She is back! Our Lady is back! She has chosen a Listener! She has chosen you! Ha _ha ha_! All hail the _Listener_!" He breaks into dance and I snap like a twig.  
" _Shut it_!" I hiss at him and he stops his infernal capering.  
"Sachi, Sachi, Sachi, Cicero knew, oh yes! I knew you were special! _So_ special!" If I had to pick a single word for his current demeanour I would use jovial. Or perhaps simply _mad_.  
"Shut it, shut it, just shut up for once in your life just _shut up_." My tone is a warning and I can't seem to read his expression. Is that... guilt? Cicero's eyes dart between mine and my neck and I know from the pointed stare he's giving my skin that it's bad. Already I can hardly turn my head for the pain. He moves forward and lifts a hand as if offering to help but I deny him the honour.  
"Astrid could be here any second after all your screaming and you need to listen to me." My mind is whirring despite the numbing pain I still feel all over, from my possibly fractured chest plate to my ankle when he tripped me up.  
"Ohohoh, listening to the Listener!" He clasps his hands together in delight at his own joke and I refrain from punching him in the face.  
" _Fool_!" My call of his self-proclaimed title silences him and I take my chance to speak. "Astrid is not to know of this. Not any of this. She cannot know I am the Listener- not yet." 'I am the Listener'. Oh gods, Nocturnal, aren't you supposed to bring me good luck? This is _rotten_ luck! Actually, it's not luck at all. Damn this timing!  
"Oh but _for why_? The Pretender- the Harlot- the-!"  
" _Cicero_!"

 **~O~**

"Grand."  
"Sachi should not let the Pretender tell her how to behave, oh no." His voice deadpans and I huff.  
"It's not my fault I'm grounded like a damned child."  
"You would rather say it was poor Cicero's fault?"  
"Absolutely." I nod my head, staring into the wavering pool below the chapel mural.

It's been a long week since the incident in the chapel and my wounds are long since healed. I've run a number of errands for Nazir but nothing outside the Hold. And never alone. While Veezara and Gabriella are as splendid as company can be whilst on an assassination mission, I could only tolerate their breaths down my neck so much. Astrid has me on godsdamned crime watch and I am sick of it.  
"Oh you wound Cicero!" He whines and leans against my arm with a sudden jolt. Even now at my most unhappy he still easily slides under my skin.  
"You _literally_ wounded Sachi."  
"Ohh, I am very sorry about that, I am, I am! Won't you please forgive humble Cicero?" He twists himself around and lands his head in my lap. This pathetic, grovelling mess had me at his mercy. _Me_. The Legendary Dragonborn, saviour of humanity, Champion to over 5 Daedric Gods and respected Master of the renowned Thieve's Guild. Maybe Cicero ought to be Dragonborn and Listener and let me go back to stealing shiney trinkets from poor people. Maybe searching for the Brotherhood was a mistake after-all... Maybe I should have brought them down all those weeks ago in that shack...  
I shake those thoughts away as I stare down at my fool. As angry as I am at him for confessing my status as Listener to 'Miss Paranoia', I can't find it in myself to honestly regret a thing.  
"I'll forgive you on one condition."  
"Oh! Truly? Anything! Anything at all and it shall be yours, Listener!" It didn't take me long to become accustomed to my new title. Preferable to 'sister' or 'Dragonborn', that's for sure- and I particularly loved how angry it made Astrid whenever Cicero would pointedly address me as Listener in her presence.  
"Forgive me for what I said about you being foolish. I wasn't really thinking clearly." I sigh and lean back, tensed and awaiting his response. Our argument had probably not helped me any during our little tussle.  
"Cicero knows Sachi didn't mean it. But... I do wonder..."  
"What?"  
"What had Cicero's beloved sister so preoccupied? I do recall _something_ about 'a mess'?" Oh. I had hoped he'd forgotten.  
"The mess is sorted out now." I lie and I know he can tell. He can always tell.  
"If Sachi says so."

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _"And just where have you been?" a sharp voice drawls from behind Cicero as he enters quietly into the war room of the Bruma Sanctuary. He doesn't respond, he doesn't indicate having even heard his Master. "Your supervisor returned hours ago... So. I will ask again._ Where have you been _?" Latrell knows full well where he's been. He's known for quite some time his toy's been indulging himself with the Bosmer child. What could he possibly hope to gain?  
_ _"I was in town." His reply is short, each word laced with spite. A sly grin slips across Latrell's face and he lifts a hand to grip Cicero by the shoulder.  
_ _"You'd better watch your tongue, my little pet." When he doesn't respond the smile turns to a frown- anger. His fingers dig sharply into a tendon, making Cicero flinch in pain. A quick reminder of who's in charge here.  
_ _"Don't worry, I know where you've been,"Latrell whispers into his ear, his breath causing Cicero's skin to rise with goosebumps.  
_ _"You don't know anything," fear is rising swiftly and he can feel it in his throat. His concern for Sachi causes his hands to ball into shaking fists, his brow tightens into an angry scowl.  
_ _"You're right, you're right. Of course I don't know about your liaisons with the Bosmeri girl. Your contract." A sharp intake of breath gives Latrell an incredible sense of satisfaction. He's hit a nerve. "Perhaps, if you misbehave I will be forced to send someone a little... less_ inept _to greet her," his voice is silky, fingers still pressing deeply into his pressure point before they curl and creep their way up his neck in careful, calculated strokes. Cicero knows this is no time for games. He knows Latrell will soon grow tired of failure. Failure is too low a quality for even his most despicable of 'pets'.  
_ _"You don't have to send anyone else-!"  
"And why shouldn't I? Surveillance in the field hasn't changed your inactivity! Nor have my method's of weakening that pious rebellion you have against my orders!" He pauses, his lips skimming across the back of Cicero's neck. "Perhaps I've been playing too nicely..."  
_ _Latrell can feel the boy quaking below him now and decides that's enough pushing for the moment. He steps away, finally giving Cicero his own space. Before he leaves he speaks again, his voice more composed and official. "There will be a gathering in the dining hall. I have news to share."_

 _Cicero knows he's running out of time. As is the time for the Bruma Sanctuary, and everyone here knows it. Latrell stands in front of the few remaining members, his expression grim.  
_ _"As you all know, our number's are beginning to deplete at an astonishing rate... And it's a result of the violent on-goings in Bruma. Soon, the sanctuary will be breached." A number of gasps escape his rallying brothers and sisters. "Quiet, quiet... There's not much to be done except continue business as usual. Steer clear of any and all riots, do not engage anyone who is not a contract related individual." His words are final but the whispers only grow louder. Cicero stands off to the side, his arms folded. A question strikes him and he raises an arm. "What is it?" Latrell demands, clearly exasperated by everyone's unruly discontent.  
_ _"Where do we go if the Sanctuary is breached?"  
_ _Silence falls over the room, each person's eyes darting between Cicero and Latrell, the question seeming to interest them as well.  
_ _"We stay and defend our home," he says it so simply but that's not good enough an answer. There's barely 20 of them left and he knows numbers outside in the cities are only growing larger, angrier.  
_ _"That's suicide!" one person from the group shouts in protest. A loud humming of agreement fills the room and Latrell's eyes flicker back to Cicero's position, wide with fury. The boy can feel himself reeling under his master's harsh gaze and looks away, terrified. Speaking was a mistake. One that will cost him dearly._

 ** _~O~_**

 _The bracing winds in Cheydinhal cease when the door slams behind Sachi, announcing her arrival to the few people who linger drunkenly around the Inn. A few stop their murmurings to gawk, to gauge her from a distance as if assessing her worth- in one way or another. The blood and grass stains stand out on her tan coloured armor, giving away signs of a definite struggle. Not that she could be bothered doing anything about it. These people could stare as long as they want, it won't bother her at all. She takes a seat and stares languidly into the fire pit, thinking about what hell Cicero must be facing right now. She has travelled far in a short space of time but by now he surely would be dealing with a true nightmare. Her hands rise and cover her face to stifle a strangled sob. To the confused and still staring onlookers it would have looked like she was coughing, or maybe even laughing. The visions are racing and she has no time for these ordinaries, but now she wished they would stop staring at her. She looks back up, fighting the angry tears that are beginning to well in her eyes. She meets several glares with obvious hostility, a silent warning to everyone. All but one person is staring; a bard who is plucking skillfully at the trilling strings while he hums a soft but joyful tune. No one seems to even notice him. An invisible man._

 _The others soon go back to what they were doing, the soft voices returning at a pleasant background level, but still too loud for Sachi's liking. Her head is crowded and her heart is beating violently in her chest. She can't stop thinking about the suffering, the torment he must be experiencing right now. And it's all her fault. It's always her fault. The room goes into a blur, the voices seeming to seep into her very skin, hounding and biting at her every sense. She can't breathe again, the screaming in her head reaching a peak._ IT'S ALL MY FAULT, IT'S ALL MY FAULT, IT'S ALL MY FAULT, IT'S ALL MY FAUL- _  
_ _A women's hand on her shoulder brings her back to the surface and the shrieking stops.  
_ _"Are you alright, love?" A young woman floats into view, her expression concerned. The rest of the room by now has remained pointedly unaware to her obvious distress, for which she is silently thankful. Sachi struggles to find her voice before choking out, "A room-"_

 _Her hands find 10 septims from her pocket and drops them into the maiden's hand before stumbling into the nearest doorway, nauseous. She rests on the bed, half on it, half slumped on the floor, the world seeming to swim before her eyes. She knows she cannot see Cicero again for a while, it's too dangerous now with him constantly being tailed by Brotherhood members. They must have caught on somehow. An indistinct cry escapes her, the futility of her situation so abhorrently clear. She cannot be with him, she cannot stay away from him. Both methods will result in his punishment. His ridicule and continued torture, dehumanization. The riots across Cryodiil are beginning to make settling in one place for too long incredibly difficult. The threat of being found by anyone even slightly unfriendly could be her entire undoing and everything she'd worked for would be thrown away. Everything she'd killed for, bled for would be meaningless if she was stopped now. But what was the meaning? What was the point of taking endless lives in place of her own? Sachi didn't even know what her life was anymore. On the run from one man and his army of lethal assassins while constantly seeking him out to endanger both their lives for a few brief moments of uneasy closeness. She craved a connection more than anything else in the world and how sad it is that she should find it in Cicero. How sad that he found it in her._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

"But I thought you said-?"  
"No? Well, I've reconsidered. Look. Something is happening here. I'm not sure entirely what that something is, but... Well, we need to find out. If the Night Mother really did give you an order to talk to a contact, we'd be mad to ignore it. And I think we'd both agree, _Cicero's_ brought quite enough _madness_ to this Sanctuary." I hate this woman more every day. So derogatory. So underhanded and rude. He's done absolutely nothing to anyone but me, and I deserved it- yet I still like him just fine. "So go. Go to Volunruud. It's a crypt, pretty far to the northeast. Talk to this Amaund Motierre. And let's see where all this leads. _Hmm_?" I nod stiffly and exit the war room. That woman's a beast.  
"But Sachi-! Remember, no Volunruud until you finish the contracts Nazir has for you."

I decide to go share my news with Cicero. Surely he'd appreciate my going to Volunruud, at long last. On the way, my mind begins to wander, lingering on thoughts I shouldn't be thinking. Sights I shouldn't be imagining in great detail. I wonder what her face looks like without any skin on it...  
"What has the Listener so happy?" Cicero shuts his book closed and stands from his table, a sly, knowing smile set in place across his face.  
"I'm imagining something pleasant."  
" _Pleasant_? It wouldn't happen to be that Pretender's head on a pike, now would it?" Oddly enough, yes it was.  
"No." His smile turns to a pout and I wish I could tell him how right he was- how similarly I feel. Instead I change the subject to something a little less betray-ish. "I have some questions for you, my darling fool."  
"Questions?" He hums and sits back down at his table. I see the slight glint of his dagger on his hip and still I can't help but admire it. The little knife that started it all.  
"Mhm. Astrid told me you came from Cyrodiil?"  
"That's correct." The mention of Astrid's actual name turns his mood sour.  
"Where exactly?" I join him and sit at the table, glancing between him and the tattered notebook. His gloved hands are placed possessively over it, fingers splayed out and tapping rhythmically as he ponders my question.  
"Cheydinhal."  
"I came from near there as well. I lived in a crypt." I laugh offhandedly as the faces of my old friends begin to swim around my head. I miss them, certainly. But I'll never go back to living in the darkness.  
"A crypt?" He wrinkles his nose at me in obvious distaste.  
"Yah-huh." I nod contentedly.  
"Must have been quiet, oh _too quiet_. Cicero does not like the silence."  
"And you speak from experience, of course?"  
"I do."  
"Ohhhkay. Second question!" I speak louder, suddenly more lively. I hate when his mind goes wandering. It's never pleasant to see him feeling anything less than merry.  
"Ask away, ask away."  
"I know what you do, as Keeper, but what do I do, as Listener? I don't- have to do anything like your job, right?" My respect for the Night Mother has greatly increased since finding out she can indeed talk, but I still don't want to have to lather her in oils.  
"Oh, the Listener, well... _listens_! The Night Mother speaks to you. Guides you on your path. But when the Night Mother speaks, the Listener must obey. You _must_! For her word is the will of Sithis. And Sithis is the Dark Brotherhood incarnate." Oddly concise but his usual zeal has returned in full. His hysterical voice rises and falls dramatically and I can't help but be drawn in as if he's telling me a grand tale. He really loves his job.  
"Okay easy enough, easy enough. Okay! Next question! Did _you_ want to be Listener? I know you love being Keeper but-..." I drift off and expect his mood to drop again.  
"Oh... Well... yes. I did. I did indeed. I tried to listen. Tried so _hard_. But the Night Mother never spoke to poor Cicero. The silence became almost... _maddening_."  
"' _Almost_ ' indeed."  
"Oh, but that was then! This is now! You're the Listener, and the Night Mother chose you for a reason, I'm sure! Cicero will remain the happy Keeper." He disregards my impolite interjection.  
"As long as you're happy." I shrug and lean forward across the table, considering my next question carefully.

"And now my final question... How did you get me pinned against the wall like that?"  
"That's a very odd question to ask!" He laughs loudly but it dies down quickly. "I can think of an even better question, however."  
"Okay, what's your question?"  
"Why did you _let_ me pin you like that?" There's a dark humour in his eyes and I know his question is genuine. It's been 10 days and I still don't know why. I could have Shouted him to Oblivion and back. I can freeze time and become ethereal. I can breathe fire and bring dragons hurtling to the ground but I couldn't defend myself from one small jester.  
Maybe this attachment is becoming quite dangerous.  
"I guess I'm not as strong as you are." I shrug again, nonchalant and happy to have him see me as weaker than I am, as long as it ends this topic faster.  
"Cicero may be a fool but he is not so easily fooled!" He giggles inanely and I join in. It feels nice to laugh again.  
"I'm not sure why I didn't fight back. I have a few tricks up my sleeve but I never thought to use any of them."  
"Has the Listener gone soft?" He asks in a serious voice but it doesn't last. His own wording makes him crack and laugh again. What a perv.  
"You could say that," I'm laughing harder now, and I can't seem to remember why I'd bothered to visit him in the first place.

* * *

 **xxx xxx**

 _The cinders burn brightly in the hearth, the crackling spark of hot irons are threateningly close to Cicero's chest as he gasps for air. The burns leave heinous marks across his flesh as it melts against the metal, the air thick with the smell of burning meat as he screams again. One iron goes into the hearth, one comes out, perpetually switching, never ending. Latrell is shouting, his voice melding with Cicero's within the heavy stone walls, trying to drown out what little recompense his slave can emit.  
_

 _"What will you do?" comes the question yet again, but his pet refuses to break.  
_ _"I will not harm Sachi!"  
_ _"Wrong answer," the iron poker, white hot and creaking sinks deeply into his rib cage, splitting bone, puncturing organs. Blood rises up and threatens to drown him as it pools in his throat, his mouth, his chest. A spray of crimson flies forth from screaming lips, arms and legs straining painfully against metal clamps that hold him in place. Obedient._

 _Latrell withdraws the poker, baring his teeth when Cicero's gargled howling ceases. Bloodied and mangled, his chest still rises and falls at an alarming pace, the colour draining from his skin as the open wound pulsates. The poker returns to the fire, the next one finally ready and waiting. Latrell hopes that perhaps this little ceremony will prevent his pet from acting out so defiantly in front of the others again.  
_ _"What will you do?" he shrieks, brandishing his weapon as his fury increases, the electricity in the air urging him on, encouraging him to continue until his end is met.  
_ _"I will not harm Sachi!" Cicero chokes through strangled sobs, the blood covering most of his face now, his consciousness fading fast as Latrell dives forward again into his stomach. The searing pain flashes white across Cicero's vision, forcing his back to arch, the skin rubbed raw and bruised against his unrelenting restraints.  
_ _The sounds he can draw from his initiate make Latrell tremble, causing him eagerly press harder and harder into his stomach until it hits the stone bench underneath him. He twists the metal poker, sneering barely inches from Cicero's face. A final cough and it's clear this is all he can take; the flow of blood slowing, the whites of his eyes are all that's visible now. Latrell scoffs and withdraws again, casting the poker into the hearth with the others. A healing spell, a potion, a cream he'd devised simply for this, his newest and most favourite way of playing with his toy. A cream to make every trace of this delicious affair invisible. His skin is new before long, a fresh canvas to desecrate._

 _With a slap to the face Cicero is conscious once more and almost instantly gasping despite the absence of agony. Again, Latrell goes to the hearth and takes a searing poker by the handle. His robes are drenched in blood, having cycled through this numerous times already this evening. Cicero's head violently shaking from side to side in protest and he's begging now. Latrell smiles, bringing the poker to rest above his navel, mere centimetres from his skin. The begging turns into screaming again, the fear gripping him entirely as he fights in vain against his bonds.  
_ _"WHAT WILL YOU DO?"  
_ _" **I WILL NOT HARM SACHI**!"  
_ _"WRONG._ ANSWER _."_

 _ **~O~**_

 _"Have you not noticed Bruma is in riot? We need to evacuate!"  
_ _"We will do no such thing! You know your orders, now obey!" Latrell shouts, blocking the only exit as a thunderous hammering threatens to cave in their last defense against the crumbling society beyond. Above ground they can hear it. They all hear it. The crackling of houses on fire, the shattering of glass against molten heat. People are screaming, fighting against their own brothers. The assassins all know its their last days, yet Latrell will not allow them to leave, to flee for Cheydinhal before the Sanctuary is discovered. The few that remain huddle together in the main room, panic-stricken and exhausted while Latrell paces, infuriated by their weakness; their lack of commitment. Barely 10 members still survive, all of whom are verging on treachery. Cicero has observed, patiently watchful as each member slowly makes their descent, fear hindering their vision, their sense of what is right and wrong. He knows what each has done. He knows most have already broken tenants. Most have already killed one of their own in panic, confusion. Pathetic and wasteful, he is disgusted by their lack of faith in each other. The senseless fighting above has become so infectious that even they in the Brotherhood were no longer safe._

 _"The Sanctuary is bound to be breached any day now!" One member is so bold as to stand right in front of Latrell's face, the others obviously considering joining him.  
_ _"There is no reason for alarm! We will wait here where it is safe!" He refuses, point blank as always. He will not say why he feels so strongly about remaining here but Cicero knows many things, and this was one of them. Latrell knows that if he should move his 'family' to Cheydinhal he would be effectively removing his rights as leader. The Black Hand resides in Cheydinhal, clearly more suited to a place of authority than he is and he knows it. He knows they would never stand for his depraved mistreatment of a fellow member. They may be an organisation of the strange and debauched but even those with such little moral have their limitations.  
_ _"No reason for alarm? Are you kidding me? There are dead bodies at our doorstep and chaos all around the entirety of Cyrodiil and you want us to stay here and just watch?" Absolute despair is beginning to rear its ugly head as each person begins to stand up to Latrell blatantly. Their reasoning is sound but their cause for it is otherwise inclined. Fear is seldom a good influence for decision making.  
_ _"You will do as I command, brother._ You all will _." His word is final and for an unknown reason they decide to leave it at that for tonight. Probably too exhausted to continue, the mindless dread wearing them down to their cores.  
_ _Cicero can think of little else but what Sachi is doing right now, praying to every god he knows of that she is still alright up there in the open. The room empties as people retire to their chambers, disgruntled and ill at ease. Latrell is seated at a table now, wringing his hands as he agitatedly stares in Cicero's direction.  
_ _"Why do they insist on disobeying me?" he asks quietly, rhetorically. Cicero is pulled from his daydream, suddenly aware that everyone has left now.  
_ _"I don't know." He replies honestly but he knows that's not the answer Latrell was searching for. He stands up and wanders to Cicero who is leaning against a wall. The calm he had obtained in his dream-scape evaporates at his master's touch. Despite its tenderness, nothing can erase the memories of what these cruel hands have done to him. He tries not to reel back, to cower or protest and rather opts to stay still, violently uncomfortable. His hands take Cicero's face and he stares far too long into his eyes as if searching there for his answers._

 _"Why can't they all obey like you, hmm..." definitely not a question, although the sickly sweet words hit a nerve. Why do they not obey as he does? What a harshly ironic way to phrase it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact they did not know the meaning of the word 'fear' as he does. Words like 'obey', 'submit' and 'pet' all have different meanings for them. They do not know about suffering, about real turmoil or hopelessness. He considers that this may be why the crisis above doesn't worry him as much as it does everyone else. The chaos in common society seems so benign in his view, so far away from concern. The only question that phases him is the one that can bring him down to his knees. The one he's come to hear a thousand times._

 **xxx xxx**

* * *

"Sister."  
"Nazir." I take my seat at the table with a mug filled with a familiar brown swill in my hand. "Got anything _juicey_ for me?"  
"I have two new contracts I think you might find particularly interesting." Nazir speaks with his usual drawl but his sarcasm has dropped noticeably. I do believe he's starting to like me.  
"Oh, do tell. Anything out of the Hold? I'm sick of this place." I whine and take a deep draw from my tankard.  
"As a matter of fact, there is one contract calling for your attention in Morthal."  
"What? Really?" I perk up, suddenly grinning broadly. I miss the snow, the crisp air. I'll even take swampy, foggy Morthal over Falkreath right now. It's about time Astrid let up on that ridiculous grounding.  
"A bard at the Inn has pissed someone off. It says here... 'The worst voice in all of Tamriel'."  
"Sounds right up your alley," I poke, finishing off my mead. "Easy enough though! And the other?"  
"A vampire near Half Moon Mill. Hern."  
"Vampire?" I feel my stomach drop.  
"Yes. Apparently someone found out about his little shed of horrors full of human remains and saw fit to employ us."He slides the two pieces of paper over to me and I pick them up.  
"Just this one vampire?"  
Nazir rubs his chin thoughtfully. "No. Word is he's living with a woman, Hert. You'll probably have to contend with her as well."  
I nod, understanding. "Alright, then." Slowly, I get to my feet, eyes still scouring the pages for any more details.  
"And Sachi?"  
"Mmm?"  
"For Sithis's sake, don't get killed."  
"I make no promises," I grin at him despite the burning unease I feel beginning to settle into my chest.

I wander around the sanctuary until I can deny my thoughts no longer. I head to Cicero's room and find him in there humming, bustling about in front of a cupboard.  
"Home improvement?"  
"Well- yes! Yes, just a spot of tidying up!" He titters and begins to hum again so I take my spot at his table.  
"I have a job for you." He stops shuffling the items on the shelves and turns on his heel, fast as lightning.  
"Oh? I'm always eager!"  
"You're coming with me to Morthal." His smiles widens but I know a rebuttal is stirring behind his glinting eyes. "It should take 5 days all up. Plenty of time for you to return for the Night Mother's ritual." We'll have to ride our horses hard there and back but killing one bard shouldn't take up too much time.  
"Ohhh well in that case. humble Cicero would be honoured to help the Listener!"


End file.
